


Melodic Dissonance

by StarWarsSyl



Series: Harmonic Chaos Trilogy [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Attachment does not equal love in this fic, Coming of Age, Concurrent With Deception Through The Wrong Jedi, Extraction Specialist Training, Found Family, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Gen, Jedi Culture Respected, MedCorps, Sadism, original novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarWarsSyl/pseuds/StarWarsSyl
Summary: Thryn Sein is both a Padawan and a born sadist. She is kind, gentle, and just a bit different. When friends are threatened by old wounds, and her own peace of mind is threatened by new ones, can she hold on to her light in spite of the galaxy's growing darkness?





	1. Chapter 1

 

“You almost scraped that yacht!” Thryn’s voice laughed through the speaker.

Lisk made a tight grin he knew she couldn’t see as he dropped the small freighter under the thick line of traffic and sank into another lane.

A muffled curse through the comm left him smirking, and a distinct sense of amusement wafted through the Force from Feemor in the copilot’s seat.

First one to cause damage to a civilian craft would get left  _ home  _ the next time Feemor ran drills _ . _

And Lisk was  _ not  _ going to be the one left home.

Weaving in and out, freezing all acceleration then boosting up to a higher traffic lane, Lisk checked the scanners and peered out the viewport.

“I think I lost her. I—”

“The  _ Force  _ did you go?” Thryn’s voice muttered over the comms.

Lisk let out a thrilled chuckle.

“Well done,” Feemor murmured. “But early complacency—”

Low-powered laser beams brushed the rear of the tiny freighter, making Lisk recheck the scanners.

Lisk sighed, sending Thryn’s master a bleak  _ look.  _ “Gets you killed.”

“Every time.” Feemor agreed. He leaned to the comm. “Thryn, time to head back.”  
“We still get to check in with the Lodge before returning to the Temple?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Lisk, you want to come with?”

“I’m here to for the ships,  _ not  _ your grueling torture,” he shot back.

Thryn scoffed. “The Rangers are  _ good  _ at what they do.”  
“And I patch them up when they  _ aren’t _ .”

Feemor chuckled at the apprentice healer’s humor, then added, “We’ll switch pilots, then. Thryn, bring her in and dock with us so Lisk can go straight home and we don’t have to make a detour.”

As they waited, Lisk looked out at the massive traffic belt— one of many surrounding Coruscant. They were only about an hour out from the surface at non-Jedi/military speeds, but the lines extended back another three standard hours into realspace.

_ Thank the Force we don’t have to wait in line. _

Lisk loved learning pursuit and evasion with a man who routinely put these skills to work saving his own life and that of his Padawan, but a two-hour commute would cut into their teaching time  _ massively. _

The ship made a gentle clang as the reverberation of Thryn’s transport locking on sent vibrations through Lisk’s hull.

“We’ll switch next time,” Feemor offered as Lisk moved to the hatchway. “Thryn will ride with me, and you’ll pursue.”

“Thank you, Master Feemor.”

“Thank your master. She’s the one who puts up with this.”

In spite of her hatred of any flight other than a smooth one. Lisk smiled to himself. He certainly hadn’t fared  _ terribly  _ in the master gamble.

The hatch slid open and Thryn, clothed in casual underworld garb, slipped through.

Her formal, almost military step was gone, even with the three of them alone. _ When she puts on the clothes, she puts on the act. I don’t think it requires thought anymore. _

But get her home in the Temple again and in her Jedi robes?

_ You could put her on ceremonial guard in an instant. _

His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, as usual, but he managed a neutral smile in spite of it.

“You did really well,” Thryn praised, apparently not too frustrated by the fact that he’d nearly escaped when she had yet to. “You’re good at this.”

Lisk risked a warmer smile. “I have a good opponent.”

“You both have come a long way,” Feemor offered. “It’s been a jo—”

Something shuddered through the Force, agony and  _ grief— _

Lisk drew in a shaking breath, saw Thryn had gone pale and lost her scoundrel slouch.

Feemor turned to look at them, his eyes wide.

_ Something terrible just happened. _

“We need to get back,” Thryn murmured. “ _ Now. _ ”

Feemor gave a nod, and movement exploded through the cockpit as Thryn raced for the pilot’s seat and Lisk darted through the passage, sealed the hatch, then moved to separate the two ships and take the controls of the smaller hauler.

With the two ships apart once more, the Jedi sped into one of the open areas and accelerated at a rate that taxed the ships’ g-regulators, pressing Lisk back into the seat.

“What do you think happened?” Lisk worried.

“I don’t know,” was Feemor’s terse reply.

Seventeen minutes standard later, they had to slow as they pinged their identities to Coruscant Security, then dropped into the atmosphere.

“Call coming through,” Thryn announced, voice tight. “Leaving Lisk patched through.”  
Lisk heard the ping as the connection was made, and then a small holo sprang up on his control board.

He refused to give it more than a glance as he turned the ship towards the Temple.

Long gray hair, an artificial white eye that glowed bright in the holo, and deep lines in the face—

_ Tholme. _

“Padawan Sein. Master Feemor. Are you near Coruscant?”

“Three minutes out from the Temple,” Feemor replied.

“Then I’m sure you felt it.”

Thryn’s voice didn’t wait for an explanation. “Felt  _ what _ ?”

She sounded afraid. It made Lisk’s stomach turn over.

“I’m sorry, Thryn,” Tholme murmured. “Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead.”

Lisk clutched the steering stick, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the chest.  _ No. _

Utter silence over the comm.

_ Oh, Thryn. _

It was Feemor who finally replied, “We’ll be there soon.”  
And then the connection cut.

 

* * *

 

Thryn focused on bringing their ship in to land in the hangar without losing sight of keeping her passenger safe.

But once the ramp was down, her focus seemed to fall to pieces in her hands.

She lunged down the ramp, found Tholme waiting for her, realized Feemor hadn’t followed. She looked back, found him standing at the top of the ramp, face stricken.

Somehow Thryn tore her gaze away to listen as Tholme began to explain.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t understand.” Thryn’s voice, both quiet and  _ desperate  _ made Lisk wince as he moved within hearing range and stopped, not sure whether he should approach or not.

_ It’s not like I actually _ knew  _ him in person. _

It didn’t make the horrifying ache in his pounding heart less, but Thryn and Feemor were practically family, and that was different.

The last rays of sunset tinged the city outside the hangar blood red.

“Why didn’t he  _ dodge _ ? He should have  _ felt  _ it coming—”

“He did, the first few shots. They pursued the gunman, Mandalorian armor by the description. It was during the pursuit that Kenobi was hit.”

The Force twisted around Thryn, and Lisk felt the tingling sensation in his mind that signified she was losing track of her shields. “By  _ description _ ?”

“He got away.” Tholme looked grim.

Lisk, at the base of the ramp, heard Feemor’s quiet exhale. Unlike Thryn,  _ his  _ shields tightened.

Thryn didn’t say a word.

“We’ll find him,” Tholme murmured.

When Thryn finally spoke, her voice sounded both afraid and on the verge of tears, in contrast to the warm Force pattern that looked like it should be read as happiness. “Did he suffer?”  
_ Please no. Not after she had to watch Taria— _

“It was quick and clean.”

Thryn bowed her head, shoulders still braced in their military straightness.

And then she walked away without a backwards glance.

Neither Lisk nor Feemor budged, but the older of the two spoke up as Thryn disappeared through the door and into the Temple, “When is the funeral?”

“Tonight. It’s being pushed back a bit, to try to give people a chance to get here, but if we wait any longer, more are going to have to leave. I’ll send you and Thryn the exact time when we know.”

“Me too, please,” Lisk spoke up.

Tholme sent him a nod, then walked away.

Lisk waited to see if Feemor was going to budge, but when he didn’t hear anything, he moved so the ship itself was no longer hiding the top of the ramp from his view.

He found Feemor sitting there, staring off at nothing.

“Is there anything I can do?” Lisk asked since he felt he  _ must. _

Feemor blinked at him, then shook his head. “No.”

_ Of course I can’t. _

“Maybe you could find Thryn. Make sure she’s alright.”

Lisk tried to hide his shock. If Feemor wasn’t ready to do that  _ himself,  _ despite his close bond with his Padawan...

Lisk gave a nod, not trusting himself to speak.

This would be the first time in two years that Feemor had not immediately moved to back up his Padawan.

_ He must be reeling just as badly. _

Lisk turned and forced his feet to move, to carry him through the Temple.

The Force sang with pain, the grief of the Jedi present on Coruscant. The silent soul music  _ hurt,  _ stinging Lisk’s eyes and making it difficult to swallow.

Were those  _ not  _ raised as Jedi so melodic in their sorrow and pain?  _ Or is that just us? _

He didn’t need to search for Thryn.

He knew where she would be.

Beneath music old and discordant and soothing all in one.

 

* * *

 

Thryn sat on the boulder beside her waterfall, arms draped around her knees and staring at the water churning in the false moonlight.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, expected to find her master had come to join her in silent grief, but instead found Lisk. He sat beside her, not saying a word.

The gentle gesture of sympathy broke through the shock and emptiness, allowing slow tears to escape her lashes as she let the mist of the waterfall beat her face.

Lisk simply sat there and endured the grief alongside her.

 

* * *

 

Feemor couldn’t move.

Part of him yelled at the rest of him to go to his Padawan. To make sure she didn’t have to face these first moments alone.

He still couldn’t move.

He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t have his legacy-brother’s murderer just  _ walk free  _ like  _ last time. _

He just  _ couldn’t.  _ Past and present blurred too heavily, leaving him mired in pain old and new.

Feemor couldn’t manage to force himself to stand up, so he simply sat there in the empty hangar, staring at nothing, face blank.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Thryn stood in the burial chamber again.

Twice in two years.

_ I’m eighteen. How many deaths am I supposed to experience this young? _

Thryn gathered shields around her signature, disguising it.  _ Everyone here is already grieving. There is no need to make them hurt worse. _

And the last thing she wanted was for them to think she was somehow  _ happy  _ with the loss of this magnificent light.

Most of the Jedi present hung back in the shadows, just as Thryn herself did, but the room was full.  _ Very  _ full.

Anakin Skywalker stood immovable at the foot of his master’s sheet-covered corpse.

She couldn’t see Feemor, but she could sense his presence.

He had a right to stand by the body, but he hid in the crowd instead.

Non Jedi began to filter in. A giant Besalisk. Senator Amidala, the Chancellor, minus his security detail, Senator Organa.

Skywalker didn’t say a word to the people gathering to honor his fallen master, didn’t so much as look at them. The pain swirling outward from him was enough to cover and obscure everything else in the room, and beneath it writhed darkness. Fury.

He’d been attached to Obi-Wan Kenobi, and he was not letting go.

Muffled sobs mingled with clear surprise began to spread from the doorway inwards, and Thryn turned her head to see.

The Zeltron who wanted so badly to be Obi-Wan’s Padawan stood there, tears streaming down her face, unintentionally driving the Jedi around her into broken sobbing. Unable to keep her own grief from spilling into others’ minds through her natural telempathy, the girl was shattering and dragging them all with her.

_ Could I shield her?  _ Thryn wasn’t sure. She took a hesitant step in that direction anyway—

A woman stepped into the room and gently took the younger’s hand. Skin a shade similar to the bereaved youngling’s, and hair a wine red, she was clearly a Zeltron as well.

Thryn settled again.  _ Someone who has been shielding herself for years would know better how to help. _

The woman led the girl to the back of the room and slowly the atmosphere returned to its heavy, but natural state.

_ Lifta,  _ Thryn thought.  _ The little one’s name is Lifta. _

No one else came through the door.

_ Why are we waiting? _

When at last a tall woman strode in, Thryn understood.

Wearing a dress of such a dark gray it was nearly black, the woman possessed a deathly pallor and bloodshot, swollen eyes.

She moved to stand in the inner circle next to the body as the ceremony commenced, and not a one seemed to doubt her right to the place.

_ I should be giving my full attention to Yoda.  _ The fact she  _ listened _ and clung to his words would have to be enough, since her gaze refused to leave the latecomer.

The woman held her silent dignity for a time, but before Yoda finished, she was crying. Not silently, but softly.

As Yoda’s words fell still, the woman’s tears made the only sound to be heard in the room. The weeping of a broken heart.

_ You are Satine Kryze, and now the whole Temple knows you loved him. Someone made us wait until you got here. Who? _

Given the sorrowful expression on Yoda’s face when he looked at the Duchess, Thryn suspected it to be the ancient one.

An elbow lightly pressed into hers. Thryn turned her head, just a bit, caught sight of Lisk’s face beneath a deep hood.

Thryn appreciated not standing alone. Tholme and Feemor might prefer to grieve alone in a crowd, but Thryn missed the comforting presence of Korto.

_ And he’ll be sorry he missed this. _

The stone slab slid into the floor, capturing Thryn’s gaze. Two doors slid closed over it, and light pierced through, sealing the chamber.

_ Gone. _

Some of the Jedi stirred to leave while others remained where they stood or sat, desiring to linger for a while to remember the life of the one now departed.

Thryn saw Satine fleeing at a fast walk from the room, and couldn’t understand her need to escape. Thryn closed her eyes and drew in a deep, shaky breath.

She found being surrounded by so many calm, in-Balance, grieving Jedi comforting, in a way. There was a clarity and clean quality to the sorrow that what Skywalker had pouring off of him lacked.

There, a resentment of what had been taken from him.

Here, a treasuring of what had been given.

He stewed in Obi-Wan’s pain and absence.

The others took this time to remember the best of Obi-Wan, who he had been, and the ways in which he had helped them be better than they would have been without his touch in their lives.

_ The Order will seem emptier without you. _

Thryn bowed in respect.  _ May the Force embrace you, Master Kenobi. You have found peace in its arms. And may the rest of us find peace in time. _

As other Jedi said their farewells and thanked the departed one, they began to file from the room.

Skywalker remained, and because he did, so did Ahsoka.

Bail Organa hesitated, as if he might speak to the bereaved Skywalker, then evidently changed his mind, turned, and left the room. Bitter guilt hung about him in the Force.

Thryn hurried after him, realizing there was something she  _ must  _ do.

She overtook him in the near-deserted hallway. “Senator Organa.”

He turned and saw her. His face looked chiseled in stone, in control and decorous, but behind it lurked vicious loss.

“I’m sorry,” he offered when Thryn couldn’t find words other than  _ sorry for your loss— _ and she  _ would not  _ say  _ that— _ “I don’t know you?”

“Padawan Thryn Sein.”

The mask melted. “ _ You’re _ Thryn. He spoke of you a few times. Mostly vague references I didn’t understand, but I  _ could  _ understand his tone. He was fond of you, and didn’t want to let you down.”

Thryn managed a nod, gaze dropping as she felt tears steal into her eyes again.

“I’ve read the report, and Jedi don’t talk about their abilities with outsiders, but if you know, could you— he  _ should  _ have sensed that blast in time, shouldn’t he?” 

“Yes.” Thryn’s voice sounded strangled in her own ears.

“Something was wrong.”

Thryn gave a painful nod. “Yes.”

“I don’t know how much they told you about our mission together—”

“Zigoola. Not much, but I had contact with his memories. It’s unusual, and classified, so your discretion is appreciated, but you were a good friend to him, Senator, and I wanted to thank you for that. He valued your friendship very much.”

“Zigoola hurt him, didn’t it. Weakened him.”

The words should have formed a question, but they didn’t. Instead, it was a horrible seeking of confirmation.

_ The source of your guilt.  _ “At times it did.”  
“I  _ knew  _ it,” Bail murmured to himself. “He would never admit it to me. And now it’s killed him. He would have sensed that shot if only— I should never have—”

_ And this is why the Force has me here in this hallway in this moment.  _ “This is not your fault. Don’t take responsibility for it.”  
“Obi-Wan would have if our positions had been reversed,” he pointed out.

_ He didn’t call him Master Kenobi. _

She had to keep her voice somewhat steady, had to make herself  _ heard—  _ “Yes. He would have. But it would have hurt him, slowed his healing, and there is no need for you to do what we both know he shouldn’t have done.”

He searched her face for a moment before he gave her a sad smile.

“Those are wise words.” He reached out, placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t forget to use them yourself as well.”

Thryn managed one last nod and then watched him go.

_ There is nothing I could have done. And knowing how much pain Skywalker is suffering right now, he did everything he could. Assigning blame to him will not give me what I need to endure tonight. _

A familiar sense brushed against her mind and she heard quick, quiet footsteps. Turning, she saw a tall Jedi with long black dreadlocks and a yellow stripe across his cheeks and nose.

He didn’t offer to hug her, he just did, pulling her in tight.

Thryn squeezed her eyes shut and let herself simply accept the tears that came.

“I missed it, didn’t I?” he asked, voice rough.

She nodded. She expected him to curse, but instead, he sighed and said, “I can’t stay.”

“I understand. I’m surprised you could get away from your spy network at all.”

Large hands gently held her away from him so she could look him in the eyes. Thryn wasn’t sure how to read what she saw there. Something dark, something grim.

“It was important. Thryn, I am never going to betray you. Do you believe that?”

Another nod.

“I am never going to just... leave you. Go bad. Like Lisk’s Finder. You said once that Obi-Wan and I were your Finders. You still feel like that?”

Two more swift pained nods.

“No matter what you hear,” Vos continued, “what others believe. You’ve had enough pain, and I’m not going to do that to you.”

Confusion chased away the last of her tears. “I’m used to the spy—”

“I’m not going to see you for a long time, most likely. And if I do, I will  _ not  _ be able to recognize you. It could be really bad if I did. So don’t be hurt by that, alright? And don’t admit to knowing me. If I don’t seem to have seen you, don’t try to  _ make  _ me see you. Just stay hidden. It’s better that way. Alright? If you see me somewhere, and I haven’t spotted you or sensed you,  _ I don’t want to know about it _ . Promise me.”

“Okay.” A sense of foreboding blew across her like an ill wind. “What are you doing?”  
“I can’t tell you that. I just need you to trust me.”

“Always. You trusted me when no one else did.”

He gave her a nod, looking relieved, and gently caressed the side of her head with his hand. He turned on his heel and strode back in the direction of the hangars.

Thryn dried her eyes with her voluminous sleeve, then hurried in the direction of the training salles.

She couldn’t stand still a minute longer.

 

* * *

 

Feemor felt relieved to find no one in the star map room. He slipped inside without signaling the light on.

In the dark he stared down at the feet of the statue of Qui-Gon Jinn.

“We lost Obi-Wan today,” he murmured. “You would have been proud of the man he became.” Feemor tried to swallow, found it difficult. “As for  _ me...  _ I’m not sure what you would think. The news came in, just before the ceremony.  _ He’s _ been spotted, near the Senate district. It’s possible it’s a case of mistaken identity, but...” Feemor allowed himself to plant his hands on the table, bowing his head.

“I’m angry and afraid. Why  _ now,  _ after so long? I’m not sure I can deal with this, right after losing Obi-Wan. My Padawan’s in pieces, and I can’t even help her.”

Silence answered him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered.

 

* * *

 

It was late and the Temple was grieving. Thryn wasn’t surprised to find the salles almost empty.

She stepped into one she thought vacant, only to realize her mistake. She bowed to the dark-skinned man, murmuring, “Apologies for the intrusion.”

“Not at all, Padawan.” He gave her a smile that didn’t show teeth. “Care to spar? I was beginning to tire of my own company.”

Thryn gave a nod.  _ It would be a good test to see if I can hold my shields even with this pain.  _

The man switched his saber from full strength to a training intensity, and Thryn followed suit.

“I am Tonnal,” he offered, tying his slate-gray hair into a tail at the nape of his neck.

Startled, Thryn glanced up. “Korto’s Master Tonnal?”

“Surprising you can keep those two apart. Even more surprising that you know to which I am connected.”

Thryn shrugged. “I am not familiar with Quinlan.”

“Even more curious. Who are you who has braved my former Padawan’s presence?”

“I’m Thryn Sein.”

“Ah.” Tonnal’s weathered and aging face lit with another quiet smile. He offered her the opening Soresu stance, minus Kenobi’s modified salute— Thryn’s heart seized— and said, “You have not made waves in the underworld despite your team’s effectiveness.”  
In spite of the pain, a slight smile of accomplishment tugged at Thryn’s lip. A compliment, and one she and Feemor had won. “High praise. Thank you.”

They dueled until he disarmed her, and then he showed her the guard against such an attack.

Thryn threw her mind and body into practicing that guard against him again and again.

She sensed his fading interest before she’d mastered the new defense.  _ I’ll practice more later.  _ Thryn wasn’t surprised when Tonnal hooked his saber to his belt and beckoned with his hand.

“How’s your street fighting?”

_ Oh, good. _

In spite of the grief, a small shiver of expectation zipped through Thryn’s veins.

“Full contact and speed.”

Thryn gave a nod and stowed her saber, posture relaxing into a casual but wary stand.

Again that small smile of approval.

Tonnal walked closer as if he would pass her by, then veered just a little into her designated  _ danger  _ bubble.

Thryn stepped out of that zone before he came within grabbing distance.

The intent of the attacker now evident, he turned to face her and closed.

Thryn stepped forward into her attack, using elbows and knees, keeping the fancy martial arts to a minimum.

Tonnal withdrew and Thryn refused the urge to pursue.

“Surely you know better,” Tonnal reproached.

Thryn gave a slight nod.

“You’re using an instinct-driven method instead of an art-form, drawing heavily from Tov Noga. Far more appropriate when you’re fighting for your life with no backup than the more beautiful forms.”

Thryn shrugged. “You can’t win a trophy with it, but the trophy-winning forms are kark in the underlevels.”

For the first time, teeth glinted in Tonnal’s smile. “Just one problem. You’re using your skills with an art form’s philosophy. Acting from a place of calm. You did not pursue your advantage when I retreated.”

“We are sparring, Master Tonnal.”

“And you know better. Avoid physical conflict until you see it inevitable, then take the necessary steps until the attacker is down and  _ stays  _ down.”

“Advising aggression, Master?” Thryn asked, quirking her eyebrow up.

“Aggression, but without anger. Anger will only cloud your judgment, keep you in a fight long after you should have run. Give you tunnel vision so you don’t see new threats incoming. Force you to fight with your fists when you have a weapon, because your opponent doesn’t have one and goads you to  _ fight fair. _ ”

“Feemor feels strongly about that one,” Thryn chuckled. “Don’t watch an action holo with him. Ever. He grumbles at the screen when the hero throws away his blaster to  _ fight like a man. _ ”

“Tov Noga is all about shedding ritual, grace, arrogance, and a large set of your inhibitions. You avoid if possible, but when it arises, you switch instantly to brutal. The fight should be over in under thirty seconds.”

Thryn feigned a punch to his jaw and chuckled.

“Force forbid,  _ no.  _ Now. Don’t show me Tov Noga with Teras Kasi’s ethics. Show me  _ Tov Noga. _ ”

Thryn felt like a nexu unleashed, the humming of her sadism thick in her ears as she conserved movement and refused to square-up with him, keeping out of his chance to land a good strike.

She only bothered to attack his most vulnerable areas, his eyes, his groin, his kidneys, his—

A shiver of fear, instinctive and unstoppable, jolted her blood as he caught her in a headlock she hadn’t seen coming.

_ My bad. _

Already her chin had turned to his elbow and her body turned, catching his ankle as she threw his weight forward, sending him crashing to the pad over her shoulder.

And then stiffened fingers were at her throat and Thryn wheezed in a breath—

“Crushed windpipe,” Tonnal said, voice quiet.

“Thank you, Master,” Thryn gasped out.

He gave her a hand up, though she ended up braced with her hands on her knees, muscles still quivering from the workout.

Tonnal didn’t seem to have that problem. “It was enjoyable, Padawan. Not many Jedi learn Tov Noga.”

“It doesn’t have handy little morality lessons attached, unlike most other martial arts forms,” Thryn offered. “To gain sanctioned mastery of those other forms, many Jedi-like ideals are required. With Tov, the mastery over self has to come from within, or you won’t have it at all.”

Tonnal sent her a surprised and appraising glance. “Well said. I see why Korto is enjoys your company.”  
Thryn straightened up, not quite sure what to say to that.

“Someday I might like to see your unshielded attack. Though not directed at myself. The subtle tingling was quite enough for me.”

Thryn gave a slight bow. “If I relied too heavily on it, it would become a crutch instead of me training my body to be its best.”

“I like you.” Tonnal moved to leave but paused in the door, face turning to the side. “May you find peace in your grief, Padawan.”

Thryn bowed her head in silent acknowledgment, since she couldn’t find her voice to speak.

Then the Jedi Master was gone, and Thryn drew her saber, practicing the guard he’d taught her again and again and again until it took more effort to keep her eyes open than it took to breathe.

At that point she stumbled back to her room, changed into sleep clothes, and tumbled into bed without even bothering with a shower.

 

* * *

 

It took Feemor quite a while the following morning to ascertain his Padawan was not in the Temple. She’d been spotted heading out several hours before dawn, and had not yet returned.

Feemor pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

_ Trust her to come back to you. Alright. _

It would have been a break from his usual method of handling disaster to reach out to Thryn, and with her  _ gone... _

He had some plans he needed to make.

The walls of his room transformed as he worked, flimsis and images covering their gray surfaces, lines connecting them together.

So many variables to consider.

_ If it  _ is  _ him, what can I do about it? _

_And how in the name of the Force can I keep Thryn from finding out?_

 

* * *  
  


Thryn, several levels and a sector away, checked the security of her senior Padawanship project.

The tiny safehouse nestled in Black Sun territory had lain untouched while she was away. A precious little place all her own, and only her efforts would keep it hers.

It existed, and it had a bed.

Time to find other things that would be useful for such a bolthole.

Thryn would go home when she could bear to.

She turned off her comlink and set to work.

 

* * *

 

Lisk thought nothing of it when Kewari left in response to a message summons. Lisk kept close to the master who had offered to teach him the basics of how to detect a dark influence, to determine whether an individual  _ chose  _ entirely of their own free will to inflict harm, or if there was more at work.

When his own master returned and  _ interrupted _ them, apologizing, insisting their last two hours that afternoon would have to be rescheduled for another time—  _ We’ve been trying to get to this for  _ months _ , why would we reschedule _ — Lisk realized it had to be bad.

So very bad.

He felt his fingers twitching against his thigh as he bowed to his instructor, thanked her, and followed Kewari out into the hall.

“What’s wrong?” Lisk asked, dreading the answer.

Kewari shook her head. “Not here. We’ll go to the closest meditation chamber.”

Ice choked his throat.  _ Something so bad I might make the healing around us difficult when I hear about it. _

The fidgeting worsened.

Once in a small, square room with thick carpet, Kewari didn’t even bother to close the door before she turned to him, looked him square in the eye with worry and sympathy in her own.

“Lisk. It’s about Tolor.”

 

* * *

 

Thryn only returned to the Temple as night fell across Coruscant, dragging herself up the abandoned steps through the evening murk while feeling a little satisfaction whisper through her pall of gloom.  _ I might actually be able to sleep tonight. _

A cloaked figure raced down the steps to meet her.

Thryn paused, eyes wide.

“You weren’t answering your comm.  _ Why weren’t you answering your comm _ ?”

“Lisk! Are you okay?” Thryn blurted, bewildered by the distress she could see in the shadows beneath his hood.

“No.”

Thryn reached out to steady his shoulder, when a third Padawan walked down the steps to meet them. “Padawan Sein?”  
“Yes?” Thryn tore her gaze from Lisk, who turned so the newcomer wouldn’t see how close he looked to unraveling.

“I thought you should find out first-hand,” Ahsoka Tano murmured. “We caught him. The sniper.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“ _ What _ ?” Thryn asked, voice cold, Lisk momentarily eclipsed by a vicious, searing  _ hate. _

_ Let it go, Thryn. _

There hadn’t been an  _ enemy  _ that took away Master Damsin. It might have been too soon, it might have been painful, but it had been natural, in its way.

This wasn’t.

_ I don’t want to dishonor him. _ Thryn took a steadying breath, asked, “When you say  _ we— _ ?”

“Anakin and I.”

_ Some justice, then. _ “What did you do with him?”

Something flickered in Ahsoka’s face. A sudden wall rose in the Force to protect her thoughts.

_ I hadn’t meant it like _ that.  _ I just wanted to know where he is  _ now.

“We brought him to the high security prison,” Ahsoka asserted.

Thryn frowned. “How much of a fight did he put up?”

“None. He was  _ drunk, _ ” Ahsoka spat out. “Out like a broken holo. Anakin tried talking to him, but he wasn’t even  _ worried  _ about us. We brought him back and turned him in.”

Anti-climactic. The man murdered a Jedi and got away with it for nearly twenty-four hours, only to turn the best prison on Coruscant into a glorified drunk tank?

“How did a man not smart enough to get the  _ hell  _ out of here when he had the chance manage to  _ kill  _ Master Kenobi? Was he Force sensitive?” Thryn growled. She felt a hesitant hand on her elbow, realized Lisk felt concerned.

She let the contact steady her, a calm point in the churning fog.

Ahsoka’s scowl deepened as she muttered, “No. He’s just a kriffing blaster-for-hire, but it appears he didn’t do it for money. Maybe for fame. He  _ claims  _ he did it just—”

Thryn waited, but Ahsoka didn’t seem willing to finish.

“Because  _ why _ ?” She may have raised her voice. She  _ had to know. _

“Just because he was bored.”

Thryn spun around to stare out at Coruscant, her shoulders heaving with breaths that just could  _ not  _ ease.  _ He stole a friend, a mentor,  _ my Finder,  _ for  _ that _ ? The agony I’ve been sensing all through our Order— and even from people  _ outside _ it because someone just didn’t... care. _

She needed to force her way into his mind, let him  _ feel  _ what he’d done. Needed to watch him scream and weep and  _ grieve _ the way he’d forced  _ so many others  _ to. Needed someone to stand there, smirk at his agony, and tell him they just  _ didn’t care. _

The grip on her elbow reached the point of pain, but it didn’t matter.

_ Oh. My shields are gone,  _ Thryn realized, the importance of it feeling distant _ . _

Anyone close enough to sense it would see malevolence.

_ And for once, they would be right. _

Thryn’s eyes burned.

_ I am who I make myself. I was not born evil. The way I was born will only destroy me if I let it. I want to be a Jedi. Master Kenobi fought for me to have a chance, but I have to fight for  _ myself  _ now. _

Thryn squared her shoulders though she could not yet tackle shielding.

“What is his name?” she asked, and while her voice remained unsteady, it was no longer raised.

“Rako Hardeen.”

Thryn managed a nod without looking around.

_ The name that will make me or break me. Am I a Jedi only when it’s convenient? Only when it costs me nothing? _

Ahsoka hovered, as if unsure where that left them.

Thryn glanced back at her. “Thank you for telling me.”

Ahsoka gave a nod, her glance sliding to the still-engulfed Lisk, and then she walked back up the steps.

Thryn placed her fingers over the hand on her elbow. “Thanks,” she murmured. “What was it you needed to tell me?”

The contact withdrew as Lisk shoved his hands into the sleeves of his cloak, head bowing, blue eyes narrowing as he stared at the steps below them.

“Hey.” Thryn allowed her concern to sweep away the last of the distractions. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

She could see the way his fingers moved within his sleeves, the ceaseless tapping that couldn’t keep away whatever  _ this  _ was.

“Tolor is back,” he finally ground out.

_ Your Fallen Finder?  _ Thryn’s eyes widened. “What do you mean,  _ he’s back _ ?”

“Master Barssand said he’s been seen here on Coruscant.”

“But no one has caught him,” Thryn asserted.

Lisk’s gaze snapped up to her face, then out at the city. “No. He’s out there somewhere. What if he comes in to  _ talk  _ to me, Thryn? It took  _ years  _ before the Temple realized  _ he’s _ the one who killed that— who—”

“Hey,” Thryn interrupted. “Breathe.”

Lisk huffed out a breath, then kept going. “If he could hide that well, what’s to say he won’t sneak in and try to hurt me, or turn me?”  
“ _ Would  _ you turn?” Thryn asked, her tone making it clear she didn’t think he would.

“No.”

“Then don’t fixate on the possibility.”  
Lisk scuffed the back of his boot against the stair. “That’s... not what’s  _ really  _ getting to me. What if... he  _ doesn’t _ try to see me?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It feels  _ wrong  _ to worry about that  _ more,  _ but I—  _ miss  _ him still, Thryn. How weak is that?”

A single tear slipped down his nose, only to be dashed aside with a frustrated green hand.

“It’s not weak. He was your Finder. Half your world.”  _ And you see what losing mine is doing to me. _

Lisk shrugged. “Yeah? But Tolor  _ murdered  _ an  _ innocent person,  _ and then just somehow  _ lived  _ with that for  _ years  _ without it seeming to bother him any. And when they finally figured it out, he didn’t turn himself in to face justice, he just  _ ran. _ ”

“Is it at all possible he’s innocent?” Thryn asked, hesitant, but she  _ had  _ to—

“No.” Lisk scrubbed his hands down his leggings. “A Jedi saw him do it. For some reason, he decided that  _ killing  _ a person who was  _ risking their life  _ to help the Jedi was more important than  _ me.  _ So I shouldn’t  _ care  _ what he thinks. He clearly doesn’t care about  _ me.  _ But I  _ do.  _ It’s like there’s this hole, something  _ missing  _ out of me.”

_ Yes. _

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Lisk muttered, turning back to the Temple. “You just lost  _ your  _ Finder, and here I am—”

“No,” Thryn protested, matching his stride, “this is important.”  
Lisk snorted a laugh. “If he’s smart, he’ll just  _ leave  _ Coruscant again. If not, he gets caught, stands trial, gets locked up for murder. It’s not like any of that directly affects me.”

“Yes, it  _ does.  _ I listened to you just now out here, when I needed steadying. Now listen to me.”

Lisk paused, sent her a cautious, lost look.

“I don’t know how we’re going to get through this, but we  _ will.  _ As Jedi. As people. As new adults.”  
“I feel like a miserable little kid right now,” Lisk muttered.

Thryn somehow managed a wry grimace. “Me too.”

 

* * *

 

Thryn was not expecting to find her master waiting before her door when she reached her quarters.

“Be ready by o-four-hundred hours,” Feemor announced without preamble. “We’re going to Nar Shaddaa.”

Exhaustion finally caught up with Thryn, making her shoulders sag. “What’s happening?”

“Marsim failed to check in.”

“Just once, or—?”

Feemor frowned. “Yes, just the once. We’re going to go make sure she’s alright.”

“Master... you know how Marsim works.” Thryn felt fond of the Antarian Ranger they had worked with several times in the past two years, but she wasn’t about to fool herself. “She’s not exactly  _ against  _ bending check-in times to suit her missions, and who the hell knows what she’s doing. Probably  _ not  _ her handler.”

“Be that as it may, we’re going.”

_ Okay, then.  _ “Is it alright if I stay behind while you go? Something awful has happened, and I need to be here. It’s really important.”  _ I can’t just leave Lisk right now. _

“No. But we’ll be back soon.” Feemor turned and walked away without another word.

Thryn stood staring after him in cold shock.

_ He lied to me. _ Thryn tried to comprehend that as she watched him turn the corner. She’d  _ felt  _ it—  _ he lied to me. _

Thryn left a comm message for Lisk so he’d know where she’d disappeared to, and dragged herself down to the Outfitters to ask for Nar Shaddaa supplies.

After that, she’d be  _ sleeping  _ for as long as she could before having to be on a ship in the dark of the early morning.

 

* * *

 

Thryn eyed the Nikto gangsters huddled around a fire.

From here, one could actually  _ see  _ the crimson sky as well as garbage-strewn duracrete and durasteel buildings.

Thryn edged from behind the tent she’d taken cover with and slipped past the Kintan Kings in order to enter into their sprawling compound.

She slunk down long tunnel-like halls, garish neon signs lighting some of the way, and flickering ceiling lumis the rest. She passed a pot with a bright pink holographic tree that flickered a counterpoint to the lights.

Oh, the sweet, sweet sights of Nar Shaddaa.

_ I did not miss you. _

The  _ theory  _ behind the lower levels of Coruscant and the entirety of Nar Shaddaa might be similar, but they  _ felt  _ different to Thryn.

_ Next time we have two leads, Master,  _ you  _ take the Nikto Sector and  _ I’ll  _ take the Duros Sector. _

Marginally cleaner. Fewer holotrees.

Just as many gangs.

Thryn reached a large room where the center of the floor had fallen out, leaving only the edges around the walls. A couple makeshift railings had been put up, and the mess cleared from the story below, to turn it into a balcony.

_ Oh. I actually like that.  _ The Padawan sank to a low crawl and edged closer, listening to the gravelly voices from below.

Peering down, she found several Kings standing around a chair. And to the chair was strapped...

_ Well kark, Master. Guess we were right to come look for Marsim. Shouldn’t have doubted you. _

The middle-aged human didn’t look very well, massive bruising covering half her face and down her neck, visibly trembling even from Thryn’s distance, and short white hair stained with blood.

Thryn retreated to the hall again, pulling out her comlink.

It refused to cooperate.

Swallowing a curse, Thryn worked her way out of the compound and hid behind another of the tents strewn across the street.  _ Ugh. Alright. Just a little farther. The jamming range can’t be too big, these boys don’t have the credits for it. _

It’s not like the Kintan Kings controlled too much area. Or funds. Or much of anything else.

Thryn lurked her way to the next concealing pile of rubble and commed her master.

“I found her,” she murmured into the link.

His voice was warm with praise when he replied, “Well done, where are you?”  
“Sending you my coordinates. She didn’t look so great, Master.”

“You don’t have her with you?”

“No. There’s seven of them, and more within hearing. I  _ might  _ be able to pull it off by myself, but there could easily be reinforcements I don’t know about. We’re sort of in the heart of Kintan Kings’ territory. There’s signal jamming for the compound itself, so I had to get out of there to contact you.”

“Are you in a place where you can wait?”

Thryn checked again, ignoring the lingering  _ smell  _ that was Nar Shaddaa, and the bizarre smiling face in brilliant orange light across the way. Who knew what it had originally been helping sell. Any stores that used to be here had long been cannibalized for something else, and that was the only sign left for that particular establishment. “I can wait. Or I can wait where I can see Marsim.”

“Try to keep an eye on her. We need to know if she gets moved. I’ll be there in minutes.”  
Thryn gave a nod, shut off her comlink, and retraced her steps  _ again. _

As she approached the dropoff on her stomach, she heard a sickening electrical buzz.  _ Oh, dear. _

Pain filled the air, making Thryn wince.

Peering over the edge, she confirmed it.

_ And just what do you hope to get out of her?  _ Thryn wondered, watching as one of the massive Niktos electrified their prisoner again.

Marsim’s head lolled back, her eyes rolled up as she spasmed, a hoarse rasp escaping her throat. The charge ended, her head dropped forward, a handful of moments of respite, then they hit her again with it.

_ Now what? Do I just wait while they brutalize her until Feemor gets here? _

It took Thryn forty-nine seconds before she knew she wasn’t going to be able to stand this until Feemor arrived. It simply wasn’t in her.  _ Frip this. _

Keeping her lightsaber in its secure hiding place in her dark pants, Thryn tightened her left hand on the short length of pipe the Republic Intelligence outpost had given her, and drew the small blaster Feemor had provided long ago with her right.

Dropping silently into the room, Thryn clunked the first gangster in the back of the head with all her might, felling him with an exoskeletal  _ crack,  _ and shot the next one in the shoulder.

She dove behind a stack of metal crates, hunkering as blaster fire hit it and pressed it into her.

Thryn popped up, took out another two, dropped behind it again.

_And everyone knows I’m here._

Time to get out.

Thryn put her training to good use as she neutralized the final three and broke the Ranger out of the binders.

“Sein?” the woman slurred, squinting up at her.

“We have to go. Now.” Thryn made a fast visual sweep for enemies, then leaped to the ledge and called Marsim up to her with the Force. A squeak escaped the spy, the adrenaline clearing the last of the torture haze from her eyes.

Thryn raced down the hallway, hearing shouts and pounding footsteps farther back in the compound.  _ Now to get back to the speeder, disable the traps, and get the hell out— _

A blaster bolt whizzed by Thryn’s head from behind, and she nearly ran into the Niktos that had been lounging around out front.

Shoving the blaster into Marsim’s hand, Thryn launched forward with her pipe.

The knee of the first assailant gave way, the blaster-elbow of the next—

The song whispered through Thryn’s blood, dampened a little by the lack of her lightsaber.

The path clear, Thryn spun to grab Marsim, only to find her lying on the floor.

_ Kark. Kark— _

She sensed her master only a split second before he reached her side. Without checking to see if life remained, Feemor slung Marsim over his shoulder in a carry-hold and raced for the exit.

Thryn followed, dealing with one last trio before they escaped to the speeder and fled into Nar Shaddaa’s murk.

Ducking and weaving, switching directions and paths and levels—

Thryn didn’t stop until she felt satisfied that they hadn’t been followed, and then she brought them in to the safehouse Intelligence had given them the address for.

The first thing Thryn noticed about it was that it  _ definitely  _ hadn’t been set up by Feemor or the Antarians.

This wasn’t some tiny cubbyhole, cold and dreary. It was small, yes, but might actually be an alright place to live, in a relatively “safe” part of Nar Shaddaa.

There were also framed paintings of naked female Twi’leks on the walls.

Thryn scoffed at them as she closed the door after her master and his burden.

No sooner did Feemor set Marsim on the floor, than he looked up at Thryn with a grimace. “What happened?”

“Is she—?”

“Dead.”

Thryn felt the world tilt, just a little. She leaned against the wall, gripping her bloodied pipe so tight it hurt.

“What  _ happened  _ back there?” Feemor demanded again.

Thryn closed her eyes, but that made them  _ burn,  _ so she stared at the opposite wall instead. “When I got back, they were torturing her.”

“You changed the plan.”

“I know I’m not supposed to,” Thryn sighed, “but she was  _ suffering,  _ and I couldn’t just stand by if it was in my power to make them stop.”

Feemor frowned. “Sometimes you have to let them suffer so you can save them.”

“What? Like with  _ Lisk _ ?” Thryn shot back.

“What about Lisk?” asked her confused master.

“He’s  _ grieving,  _ and I should  _ be  _ there—” No, she didn’t have Lisk’s permission to tell Feemor about Tolor, so—

Feemor’s expression hardened. “He didn’t even  _ know  _ Obi-Wan.”

“How can you  _ say  _ that?” Thryn asked, astounded. “Master Kenobi is the only reason Lisk and I are friends. That wouldn’t have been  _ possible  _ without what he  _ willingly  _ gave us, and he  _ loved his privacy! _ ”

Feemor pinched the bridge of his nose. “What does Lisk have to do with what is happening now?”

“You brought us out here.”

Feemor stood, abandoned the corpse of their acquaintance, and walked to the shielded window, where he stared out for a long, silent moment.

Thryn glared after him.  _ This isn’t working. _ She looked down at the lined, dead face and felt sorrow and guilt. “I made the wrong call, didn’t I,” she murmured.  _ She wasn’t in physical shape to defend herself even with the blaster. _

“You made the call with the information you had at the time,” Feemor replied without looking back.

“But I got her killed. I couldn’t figure out which was the right course of action. She was in a  _ bad  _ way, Master, and I didn’t know how familiar those Kings were with human anatomy and how it reacts to prolonged electricity, but when I intervened—” Thryn tried to swallow, found it difficult, the blaster burn in Marsim’s chest seemed so  _ big _ —

“If you can’t find what’s right, then you have to pick one path and  _ stick  _ with it.” There was something... off about his tone, and his signature quivered with  _ something— _

“Master? Are you alright?”

“No,” Feemor snapped. “You almost got yourself killed.”  
“I  _ did  _ get  _ her  _ killed,” Thryn whispered.

But Feemor glared back at her. “No, Thryn,  _ you  _ almost died. I don’t think you realize how close it was. She wasn’t dead yet when I picked her up. You wouldn’t have left her, you couldn’t have carried her  _ and  _ defended yourself, with multiple assailants closing from either direction. If I’d gotten there just a couple minutes later, I might not have gotten you  _ out. _ ”

His almost angry  _ fear  _ in his voice stunned Thryn into silence.

No.

In the heat of it, she  _ hadn’t _ noticed.

He tore his grim, brittle gaze away from hers, muttering, “Let’s go home.”

The flight back to Coruscant was quiet, the living almost as silent as the corpse.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

In the Temple’s morgue, Thryn stared down at the sheet-covered body, trying not to think of Marsim’s hearty laughter, or the lessons the older woman had given her in picking locks and their chuckles as Thryn’s fingers struggled to learn the intricacies of their new task—

“Where was it I went wrong?” Thryn asked, unable to look to her still silent master. “In changing the plan? If I had held out and waited, would she have lived?”

Feemor didn’t move. “Impossible to know,” was his level, almost disinterested reply.

It felt  _ off. _

_We were friends with her._

“But—  _ did  _ I do right, or did I mess up?”  _ I  _ need _ to know— _

“Does it matter?” Feemor asked back, that awful tone still in his voice. “You did what you did.”

Thryn flinched. Of  _ course  _ it mattered if she’d made a mistake that killed a friend. It made a  _ difference  _ if she’d done all she could, or if she’d failed. She made her voice wry, hoping for something, anything more from him than this strange, level murk when she asked, “Teaching me how to handle my own failings?” He’d promised the Council, after all, and she felt unmoored, and with Korto  _ unavailable  _ and Obi-Wan and Taria  _ dead— _

_ Help me, Master. It feels like my heart and brain are about to tremble apart. _

Feemor gave her nothing, turning and walking away.

Thryn watched him go, feeling sick.

Looking back to the corpse, she touched the table on which it lay. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I’m  _ sorry. _ ”

_ It normally works. Feemor sends me to do something and I get it  _ done. _ Close calls be damned. I get it done. _

Between hunting for Marsim all day, then the failed rescue that night, and no sleep on the long flight home, Thryn suspected she’d end up sleeping most of the day, in spite of Coruscant’s sun being high in the sky.

_ One thing I have to do first. _

In a fog of exhaustion and confusion, Thryn worked her way to the Halls of Healing, not that far from the morgue. It took some searching before she found Lisk.

He glanced up, took one look at her face, and excused himself from his master’s side for a moment. He gestured Thryn into one of the empty patient rooms without bothering to turn the light on.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking worried in the shadows cast by the hall light.

Thryn shook her head. “I just got back—”

“There’s blood on your clothes. Are you hurt?”  
_ Healer. _ “It’s not mine. I just needed to— I’m  _ sorry,  _ Lisk.” Tears filled her eyes, and she just sniffed, hoping to get it  _ said  _ before her voice twisted so words couldn’t be understood. “About Marinae. I got someone killed last night, and I—” Yes. There went the voice. “It’s a lot  _ harder  _ to see what you should do when  _ in it  _ than I realized—”

Compassion drove the worry from Lisk’s eyes.

It only made Thryn feel worse.

“Was it Marsim?”

Thryn managed a nod.

“I’m sorry, Thryn. And everything’s forgiven.”

A choked laugh escaped her. “You’re actually a pretty good friend. People don’t know what they’re missing out on.”

“Only pretty good?” he asked, attempting a joke, but the dire cloud lay too heavy on them both for it to draw more than a faint smile to Thryn’s lips.

His expression faded to grim, and he scuffed his toe against the floor. “There’s more bad news.”

Thryn’s heart dropped into her heels. “Why?”

A mirthless huff of a laugh proceeded his reply.

“There was a prison riot. Some of the inmates got out. Most have been apprehended again, but some haven’t, and Rako Hardeen is still loose.”

Thryn grit her teeth, gaze darting around the room. “Again:  _ why _ ?”

“When the universe sends bad things it sends a karkstorm?”

“My Finder is dead,  _ yours  _ is back, mine’s killer is free,  _ I  _ got someone killed, and there’s something wrong with Feemor. When will it  _ be enough _ ?” 

“Feemor?” Lisk asked, looking worried again.

Thryn shook her head. “He’s distant. I feel like an add-on instead of his focus. The last two years, he’s treated me as if training me is his  _ job,  _ before anything else. Now I feel like an afterthought.”

“Something’s on his mind?” Lisk shook his head. “It’s probably Master Kenobi.”

Thryn sighed. “You’re probably right. Force. I thought I was going to sleep most of the day, but now I’m too wired.”

“Waterfall or dojo?”

“Dojo. I need to beat the kark out of somebody.”

Lisk chuckled. “Don’t let anyone else hear you joke like that. They’ll think you’re serious.”  
Thryn felt a moment of warmth brush through the cold gloom in her soul. She felt safe with Lisk.

“Padawan? I need your assistance,” Kewari’s voice called, sounding urgent.

Lisk darted out the door, whispering over his shoulder, “Try to get  _ some  _ sleep.”  
_ Sure. _

It wasn’t going to be happening.

 

* * *

 

Thryn crashed into bed a bit early that evening, muscles aching in a way that probably required a stronger word than  _ sore. _ She barely managed to adjust her pillow before she drifted off, and in the morning she awoke several hours past her normal rising time.

Dressed and as ready as she was going to  _ get,  _ Thryn braved her master’s door and knocked.

It slid open revealing a disheveled Feemor and glimpses of flimsi-plastered walls. Thryn’s eyes widened.

Feemor saw it, stepped into the hall, and slid the door shut.

“What’s going on?” Thryn asked.

He shrugged. “I had an idea.”

“About—?”

“It’s not ready yet.”

Thryn tried to read him but he was still _closed_ to her. _Why would he do that?_ _He doesn’t_ do _that._ “Okay. Maybe... you could let me practice my—”

“Not on me right now. I have things I’m doing.”

“Alright,” Thryn managed, rapidly losing hope in the day. “Maybe later, then? I feel very offcentered, and maybe connecting with someone else will help?”

“Seems reasonable.”  
“So... you’ll let me? Later?”

“No.”

Thryn drew back, amazed, as he hit the door button again.

“You’re free for the day,” Feemor added as he disappeared once more into his room, and the door slid shut behind him.

Thryn tried to bite back the feeling of loneliness and hurt.

_ I’m grieving too, you know. I didn’t just lose a Finder. I also lost the ability to carry out my first Master’s final request. _

The loss of that gift alone was a cruel thing.

Thryn gathered herself, decided that any  _ more _ repetitions of her new saber forms would be unlikely to help, and headed for the Youngling halls.

If her master wouldn’t allow her to connect with  _ him,  _ maybe she could find comfort elsewhere.

She was almost there when a voice stayed her.

“Burdened you are, Padawan Sein.”

Thryn turned to look down into knowing green eyes. She bowed without replying.

“What troubles you?”

Thryn was not about to lie to Yoda. “Concern for my master.”

“Hmm.” The old one leaned on his gimer stick and nodded. “A heavy burden he also carries.”

“Feemor?”

“Patient with him be. This time, difficult for him is.”

Thryn shook her head. “He won’t talk to me, he’s spending as little time with me as he can, and he won’t let me practice my gift with him, even when I said it might help me.”

Yoda’s ears lifted, and then he sighed, looking sad. “A heavy thing, murder is,” he mourned. “Long ago, and now again.”

“Someone was murdered?” Thryn thought back to the pictures and lines across the walls. “Who?”

“Public record in the archives it is. Secret, little of it is anymore.”

Thryn’s brow furrowed. “Why would you tell me this, Master?”

“Need each other, you do. Learn from him, you can. Learn from you also,  _ he  _ can. To the Younglings you were going, hmm? Good, that is. Heal your heart they can.”

Yoda turned to walk away, and Thryn sensed something—  _ yes—  _ “Do they heal your heart, Master?”  
“Help it, they do.”  
Thryn felt hesitant, it had already been rejected once today— “If— if sometime you would let me help, I would be willing.”

The old one paused, turned his head a bit though he didn’t look over his shoulder. “Offering now, are you?”

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

A smile crinkled his face, and Thryn could read how pleased he was in the Force. “For your kindness, I thank you, Padawan Sein. But my wounds, healed for now are. Good for the soul, younglings. See them you should. Heal your heart they might. Another time, for Yoda. When grieved again I am, grateful for your assistance I will be.”

“Does that happen, Master?” Thryn asked, though she supposed the question rather foolish, now that she  _ thought  _ for a moment.  _ He lives. He breathes. Of course there is grief. _

“Sad? Yes, Thryn. Often sad.” He gave another nod and set off down the hall. “Part of living, that is.”

_ What grief is my master hiding from me? And why would he? _ Thryn shook herself and continued into the Youngling area.

It didn’t take long to locate Clan Squall. She knocked at the open door of their common room, and half a dozen little faces looked up.

“Padawan Sein! Padawan Sein!”

A stampede for the door surprised Thryn, though it warmed her at the same time. It had been several months since she last ran into them, and the fact they still cared after all this time felt  _ good. _

The youngest, Mataia, five years old, green-faced, and with eyes an even more shocking blue than Lisk’s, carried a piece of flimsi to Thryn and held it up, looking earnest behind the freckle-like tattoos on her face. “Look what I made. I drew a sign for Padawan Sign.”

Thryn took the flimsi so it would hold still long enough to inspect, and crouched down so Mataia didn’t have to break her neck to see Thryn’s face.

“Hmm,” Thryn mused, smiling at the carefully colored, crooked smile on a pink-faced, yellow-haired stick figure on what looked very much like a traffic sign. “I think it’s quite good,” Thryn pronounced at last, and Mataia’s face lit up with joy. “Thank you very much.”

“Will you keep it? In your room?” Mataia’s eyes widened.

Thryn gave her a secretive nod.

_ Nothing matters in this moment except these bright lights.  _ Life, still full of hope and joy.

Thryn let everything else fade into the background as she gave small creatures of infinite value her full attention for a time.

 

* * *

 

Lisk swept the rag across the operating table one last time, gathering the soiled implements together, some for disposal, some for cleansing—

He heard the door slide shut behind him, sealing out the gentle noises of the Halls of Healing.

Three other pings had him freezing.

The sound-proofing being activated.

The click of the lock.

The chime of the  _ occupied  _ light going on so the surgery room would not be interfered with.

Lisk turned slowly, heart thundering in his throat though he wasn’t sure why, the bottle of disinfectant clutched tight in his hands.

He nearly dropped it.

“Hello, Lisk. It’s been a long time.”

Lisk found his entire body paralyzed, he couldn’t open his mouth, couldn’t do more than stare, horrified, at the man who had betrayed him. He looked just as Lisk’s child-memory had portrayed him, and in the Force, he felt the same, and he was  _ smiling  _ at Lisk with that  _ same  _ gentle smile—

_ Do you have any idea  _ how long _ , how many  _ years _ it’s been?  _ Lisk wanted to yell at him, but  _ couldn’t _ manage a single word—

_ I’m an adult. I’m an adult. I’m an adult now— _

Tolor sighed, blue eyes just a bit disappointed. “I just wanted to see you up close. I’ve been watching you for days, now, but it just wasn’t the same as speaking to you.”  
_ He’s been _ stalking  _ me?  _ Terror whispered through Lisk as he stared at the human, wide-eyed. “Why?” he somehow managed to croak out.  _ Can I reach my comlink before he reaches me—? _

Half hysterically, he realized it was  _ that question  _ again.

“Because I care about you, Lisk.” His tanned face crinkled in a smile.

Lisk found himself laughing.  _ Laughing,  _ and he couldn’t stop, and then the brown-haired-man was looking at him like  _ Lisk  _ had gone mad, as if  _ Lisk  _ was somehow the crazy one here— 

“That’s— a nice change,” Lisk gasped between the painful, mirthless laughs. “You  _ abandoned  _ me!” Oh, Force, he wanted to be more dignified, to pretend it hadn’t  _ hurt,  _ to pretend it hadn’t  _ messed up  _ the child he’d been, left him with things he  _ still  _ had to fight  _ daily,  _ and  _ this man  _ walked in here and said he  _ cared— _ ?

“I didn’t want to. I never meant to.”

Lisk didn’t buy the regret in his voice  _ one second.  _ “No, you just lurked in our midst for  _ years,  _ doing your best to  _ ruin my future _ !”

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“ _ No _ ?” Lisk challenged,  _ angry  _ now, Force help him, he was  _ furious.  _ He was locked in a sound-proofed room with a man who was a murderer and apparently had been stalking him, but the fear was draining out of the Padawan, leaving behind pure outrage.

“No.  _ Force,  _ Lisk, I  _ brought  _ you here. I only ever wanted you happy.”

“I  _ am  _ happy.  _ Here, _ ” Lisk snarled. “So, what? You going to kill me now, the way you killed your other victim? I’m not just going to  _ let  _ you, you know. I  _ will  _ fight back—” his right hand  _ finally  _ remembered it could move, zipped to his saber—

And then  _ exhaustion  _ stole his mind and his knees gave out, sleep spiraling in on him. As he succumbed he felt hands break his fall to the floor and heard a muttered and sarcastic, “ _ That  _ went well.”

And then nothing.

 

* * *

 

Thryn ate a swift meal before ensconcing herself at one of the consoles in the library.  _ Keywords “murder” and “Feemor”... go. _

Oh, dear  _ Force. _

Thryn stared at the results, some heavily redacted, others mostly visible, and the evidence of a whole stack of them that needed far more than Padawan clearance to see even the  _ titles  _ of.

Even with that pruning, it would take a lot of time to sift through them all.

_ And which one would I know was  _ it _ ? _

Thryn drummed her fingers against the table, then smiled when it made her think of Lisk.

_Okay. Maybe it was his first murder. They say the first one you find, or witness is tough, right? Like your first sentient kill?_

That gave her missions Qui-Gon Jinn had taken with then-Padawan Feemor.  _ But which were impersonal, things they found after the fact, nameless faces... and what has my Master secluded, half-mad, and redecorating like he’s hunting someone? _

Thryn paused. 

_ That  _ is  _ what it looked like, isn’t it? _

She wasn’t particularly fond of police holodramas, but she’d seen  _ other  _ Padawans watching them.

It certainly wasn’t Feemor’s usual method for searching for something or someone, certainly not the cold calculation he’d been teaching her.

Thryn added  _ Perp Unapprehended  _ to her search, discovered that didn’t narrow it down much.

_ Ha. Feemor, like his Master before him, lurking in dangerous, unpoliced areas. _ Some of them, at cursorial glance, appeared to  _ simply  _ be Feemor searching for something completely unrelated, finding a dead body somewhere, reporting it, and carrying on with what  _ he’d _ been trying to do.

_ But we’ve stumbled across murders before, and nothing has sent him into this bizarre state. And he was heading here before I messed up on Shaddaa. So it wasn’t Marsim.  _

_Obi-Wan. This started with Obi-Wan’s death._

Thryn hesitated, then added one last modifier to her search.

Rako Hardeen.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Lisk awoke expecting to find himself kidnapped, but sitting bolt upright he discovered himself to be still in the surgery suite, on the floor. The inside of his elbow stung, the lights were out and the door closed—

Lunging up, nearly slipping in the spilled cleaning fluid, the scent of it burning thick in his sinuses, Lisk keyed the lights and squinted around, trying to see if Tolor still lurked somewhere.

_ Alone. _

Lisk found he was trembling as he rubbed at his aching elbow. He peered down at it, wondering what had happened to make it sting in the air, and found a dark puncture hole, the size of a hypo.

Panic flooded his system again as he hit the door release and stumbled into the hallway. “Help,” he muttered.  _ Master. Please. _

Someone walking down the hall rushed to him as his stumbling left him on one knee, head tipped as the world spun queasily.

_ Where is my master? _

“Kewari,” he mumbled. “Kewari Barssand—”

Someone was shouting. Loudly.

All Lisk could see was Tolor’s fake care.

Hands on his face. Lisk forced his eyes to focus, found a warm dark face and amber eyes, a red healer’s tattoo over the left eyebrow.

_ Master. _ “Tolor,” he mumbled. “Was  _ here.  _ Knocked me out and— and—” He struggled, brushed the injection point with his thumb, and looked back to Kewari’s alarmed gaze.

And then he felt himself lifted in strong arms, carried like an infant as she raced to an exam room.

Lisk squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself not to cry.

The man he should have been able to trust like a parent had stomped his way through Lisk’s life  _ twice  _ now, without a care to what he might topple over, and  _ this  _ time—

_ He  _ did  _ something to me. What did he do to me? _

“Easy, Padawan,” Kewari murmured. “I’ve got you.”

All Tolor had to do was  _ walk in the door,  _ and Lisk lost everything he had fought for,  _ earned,  _ and grown into over the years.

_ He makes me just a kid again. _

He both sensed and saw Kewari running tests, reached out to her Force presence,  _ needing  _ her—

Her signature wrapped around his, holding him safe, her voice low as she explained everything she was doing. Things  _ he  _ knew how to do.

The adult who had chosen him, who had stood by him through the years,  _ she  _ was here, and she  _ mattered. _

_ How did Tolor invade the Halls? _ Lisk’s safe space, the place where the Jedi only knew him as the Padawan who fought hard to learn, instead of as the youngling who’d been rejected by his own damn Finder.

_ And now your bloodstained fingers have been all over  _ this  _ too. _

Hate tried to form, gathering the betrayal and pain and fear together, and he couldn’t  _ breathe _ —

A hand squeezed his. “Breathe with me, Padawan,” Kewari whispered.

And Lisk tried as he clung to her hand and waited to hear just  _ what  _ Tolor had done to him now.

 

* * *

 

Thryn sighed, letting her head sink to the console.

Nothing.

_ Maybe he’s just reacting to Qui-Gon’s death after all these years.  _

_ Okay. More direct approach. _

Thryn marched her way back to Feemor’s room and knocked on the door again.

It took several moments of stomping around before the door slid open to reveal Feemor, looking much as he had before, a marking pen in one hand, and a holodisc in the other.

Thryn tore her gaze away from the rose-skinned Twi’lek female that flickered between Feemor’s clenched fingers. “I need you to talk to me.”

Feemor just stared at her, blank confusion in his face.

“I need you to be present, and you’re not. I didn’t even feel like you were really  _ there  _ on our mission to Nar Shaddaa. I don’t feel like you’re hearing me.”

“Oh.”

Thryn waited. When it became clear he didn’t plan to say anything else, Thryn blinked, shook her head, and said, “This is  _ exactly  _ what I’m talking about. Where  _ are  _ you, Master?”

“I don’t know,” Feemor replied in a tone that told Thryn he hadn’t heard a word of what she said, and was giving the response that might make her go away fastest.

_ The hell? _

“At least let me help. You’re searching for something. You’re supposed to be teaching me how to search for things and people, so—”

“Nothing is amiss, Padawan. Take a few days off. You didn’t want to go to Nar Shaddaa; now we’re home.”

“ _ Master. _ ” Thryn felt her shoulders sag. “Who died?”

Feemor’s distracted affect closed off, his blue eyes went stern, and for the first time in days, he really  _ looked  _ at Thryn.

She didn’t like what she saw.

“What kind of a question is that?”  
“Is this grief?” Thryn asked. “Or is it something  _ else _ ? Because what I’m learning, right now, is to keep secrets from my future Padawan, shove them aside when it’s inconvenient to teach, and refuse help when I could  _ really  _ use it.”

Feemor scowled. “Nice try,” he shot back, and shut the door in her face.

_ That could have gone better. _

 

* * *

 

“You’re clear. There is nothing in your system.”

At his master’s words, Lisk found the last of his composure  _ gone  _ and tears slipped silently down his cheeks.  _ Kark. _ It made little sense, now that he was out of danger, and he wasn’t  _ hurt— _

_He didn’t drug me or poison me or give me some disease or put in a tracker._

Hands drew him into a hug, and Lisk found himself cradled to Kewari Barssand’s heart.

_ She cares. She  _ really _ cares. _ Lisk hugged her back, wishing the  _ ache  _ in his heart would go away. “What did he do, if he didn’t put something  _ in _ ?”

Her arms tightened around him for a long moment of silence.

“I think he drew blood,” she said at last.

Lisk shivered. “Why?”  
“I don’t know.” Kewari moved, held him at arms’ length, and looked him in the eye. “But he’s not going to do anything else to you without your permission if I have  _ anything  _ to say about it.”

“He got  _ in here, _ ” Lisk stuttered.

Kewari’s eyes flashed, and it made Lisk feel just a little better.

_ That’s right.  _ It wasn’t just  _ Lisk’s _ castle that had been violated, but Kewari’s kingdom too.

_ The most vulnerable in our Order are  _ here.

In what should have been one of the safest places of the Temple.

“What steps do you want to take to ensure he doesn’t catch you alone again?” Kewari asked.

The question caught Lisk unawares. “What? Oh. Um.” He realized his fingers were tapping at his thigh again.  _ When will I remember to bring my fidgeter? _ Probably never. Kewari’s gift to him on his thirteenth birthday, it had a record of being remembered once out of every month or so. Rarely when he actually  _ needed  _ it. “He made me sleep. I want to know how to defend against that.”

Kewari gave a nod. “When he manipulated your brain, was it merely a sleep, or did it feel like a healing trance?”

“Sleep. But I think I want to be able to guard against either.”  
“Then after our rounds, that’s what we’ll focus on. I’d prefer it if you helped me with the rest of my patients; if I have to do them alone I’ll just be wondering where you are and if you’re safe.”

Lisk blinked away the last of the tears, feeling grateful for Kewari’s deft sidestep of the embarrassment she had to know was beginning to rear its head again.

Lisk managed a nod. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

_ As if  _ I’m  _ doing  _ you  _ a favor. _

She startled him when she planted a kiss on the top of his head as she passed him on her way to the door.

Well,  _ that  _ wasn’t a common gesture, certainly not for nearly grown adults. Lisk found he didn’t mind to terribly.

 

* * *

 

_ I’ve got to stop interrupting him while he’s working _ , Thryn mused as she wound her way into the Halls of Healing again.

“Have you seen Padawan Pollid?” she asked a nearby healer-in-training. Thryn followed the directions she received and waited outside the exam room until Kewari and Lisk emerged, letting their patient go free.

Lisk’s master saw her, placed a hand on Lisk’s shoulder, looked down into his eyes and asked, “Wait for me here for a minute, alright? I’ll be right back,” and disappeared down the hall.

Something was wrong. Thryn felt her expression go grim. “What happened?”

 

* * *

 

Lisk had insisted on returning to his room that evening by himself.  _ I can’t just become an extension of either Master Barssand or Thryn. _

Besides. At least he could resist a sleep command now.

_ Anything he wants to do to me, he’ll have to do while I’m awake. _

Thryn had been almost as riled as Kewari, ready to tear apart the Temple to search for Tolor, in spite of the fact the Guards had already done a thorough sweep, including of the Force.

_ He’s not here, I need sleep, and I can’t live in fear _ all _ the time. I just can’t. _

Thryn seemed to think it reasonable to sit guard in front of his door so he could sleep at ease, but Lisk found the idea to be rather embarrassing.

_ I’m a Jedi. I don’t need such a thing. _

Lisk palmed his door open, peered inside.

He felt supremely grateful in this moment that his bed was a comfortable mattress on the floor, that the room was rectangular, everything visible from the door, the low table that held his few belongings by the bed impossible to hide under or behind.

_ Nothing is in my room. _

Except for something white on his covers that Lisk  _ hadn’t _ put there.

He stiffened, heartbeat speeding up as he spun around.

Jedi who inhabited the rooms around him were returning to sleep as well, calling cheerful greetings and goodnights to their neighbors. Lisk knew some of them by name, others by sight. He’d been living here for years, after all.

_ If I need help, any one of them will rush to assist. _

So standing in the hallway outside his open door, he reached out a hand and called the flimsiplast to him with the Force. He drew in a deep breath before reading the contents.

Comparative blood tests.

Lisk frowned, recognizing one as having his own markers. His heart sank into his boots.  _ He did draw blood. But what was he looking for?  _

And whose was the other test?

Lisk scanned his results for  _ anything  _ out of the ordinary, for anything  _ bad,  _ anything that might have slipped past the Temple’s searches—

No, no. He was healthy, safe, sane.

He released a shaking breath.  _ There’s nothing wrong with me. _

He looked to the other results, found another healthy being, if they were human. The statistics were slightly different from Lisk’s own half-human, half-Mirialan heritage.

And then he gripped the flimsi so tight he left dents and wrinkles in it as his head came up, panic flooding his system.  _ No. _

No, this couldn't be.

He turned the paper over, found a note that simply said in a familiar scrawl,  _ I’m sorry how earlier went. Maybe this will demonstrate my good intentions. Check under your pillow. _

Lisk swallowed a hysterical laugh.  _ Prove good intentions? This doesn’t prove good intentions! _

He Force-pushed his pillow to the floor, saw a vile of blood. He called it to him as well, read the label on it—

_ Tolor Kual. _

He didn’t need the Jedi heading to bed around him after all. He needed to be alone.

Lisk found himself retracing his steps back to the Halls of Healing, and from there into the Halls’ empty lab, everyone gone from it for the evening. He couldn’t shake the haze of anger and pain, and wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

It didn’t feel real _ . _

Lisk slid the vial of blood into the scanner, then rolled up his sleeve and tied a band around his arm. His hand shook so much he could barely operate the hypo.

He slipped the vial of his own next to the one he’d been  _ given.  _

He started the scan, then stepped back to watch the screen as the results filled in.

Again, the horrific  _ conclusion. _

“How does this make you abandoning me  _ better _ ?” Lisk hissed, tears stinging his eyes.

All it really did was make the last  _ good  _ memories he had of his Finder  _ lies. _

How many times had the  _ vicious  _ man held him and told him the story of the tiny green baby he  _ found abandoned  _ in the lower levels? No name, no family? Tolor wasn’t even a Finder, just a Jedi led by the Force to the right trashbin on the right day to come home with a treasure.

_ Was there ever a trashbin? _ Lisk wondered, heart breaking. He’d heard the story so many times, told with such  _ belief  _ and  _ love,  _ that Lisk could  _ smell the garbage,  _ but—

_When they realized who you’d killed, I wasn’t of any use yet. So you waited until I could be old enough to do whatever it is you want me to do, and now you come back. What do you want from me?_

Lisk swiped the whole mess into a bag, then headed to the Archives.

Time to do something he’d never done before. Time to do something he’d never  _ wanted  _ to do before.

 

* * *

 

He certainly didn’t expect to find Thryn in the low-lit room, back to one of the giant shelves. She had files scattered around her, and looked like she’d been there a while, and planned to be there even longer.

She glanced up, a sheepish look crossing her face.

Lisk stared down at case files and blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Using Feemor’s training to conduct invasive research on my master,” Thryn admitted. “You?”

Lisk’s heart thundered in his ears. Now or never. He pulled the flimsi from his bag and handed it down to her.

Thryn considered the results in confusion, then shook her head. “I don’t understand.”  
Lisk sat down beside her and pointed out the only lines that really mattered.

“I still don’t understand.”

“Feemor didn’t teach you how to figure out parentage?”

“So... these two people are related?”  
“Tolor’s my Dad.”

Thryn nearly dropped the paper. “How—?”

“I mean, it might  _ not  _ be his blood. I didn’t draw it myself. But he left a vial for me to find, and  _ that,  _ and I ran the test myself and it matches. So I’m here to find out what the records say about where I came from.”  
Thryn’s eyes went sad as she looked to his face. “Oh, Lisk.”

His throat closed and he managed a nod.

“I was happy here,” Lisk whispered. “Things really started going  _ well  _ in the last two years, and I didn’t  _ want _ to know. I reached my majority, and I decided I would revisit the option when I was knighted, but I think I would have been happy never knowing. But he’s  _ forced  _ me to know. He didn’t give me a choice. I  _ deserved the choice. _ ”

Thryn gave a nod.

“I don’t _want_ it to be his blood. Isn’t it bad enough he betrayed us and is a murderer, does he _have_ to be my _father too_?”

Thryn squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Lisk blinked back tears and watched as Thryn pulled up the parentage database on her datapad.

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked.

He managed a nod. “I can’t just wonder forever. And I think he’ll be back. I need to know before he ambushes me again.”

Thryn handed him the pad.

Lisk closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then called up the data. He waited as the system confirmed his age and recognized his legal right to the information.

And there it was. The report filed by Tolor, stating he found a cast away child in a trashbin. Lisk’s throat closed, but he pushed his way through. Parentage unknown. Custody transferred to the Jedi Order. The Finder giving him a name.

“He named me too. So now I have to wonder if  _ Pollid  _ is my mother’s name, or if he  _ really  _ chose it the way he said he did. I can’t  _ do  _ this, Thryn.”

Thryn’s bizarre signature slipped a little from its camouflage to brush against his, an effort to offer solidarity. It made his brain itch the way it always had, and Lisk tried to smile. He didn’t quite manage it.

“What are you going to do?” Thryn asked.

Lisk handed back the datapad. “I’m an adult now, so legally he can’t force me to go anywhere with him. If he takes me anywhere against my will, it’s kidnapping, and he’ll be facing more charges than just murder. I’m my own person now.”

“Okay.”

“And I believe in justice. I  _ know  _ what he did. If he really meant me no harm, he would have turned himself in to serve his time. What kind of example is it for your Findling,  _ or  _ for your— your maybe son— to show such little regard for  _ life _ ?”

“Unless they catch him, you may not get confirmation,” Thryn pointed out, voice gentle. “How are you holding up?”

“ _ Terribly. _ ” A little laugh escaped Lisk, and he tapped his fingers against the pattern on the floor. “I mean, I know everyone has parents. But I didn’t  _ want  _ them. And to have one of them be  _ him _ , after everything he’s  _ done  _ to me?” His lungs weren’t quite working again.

“Breathe,” Thryn murmured. “Lisk, breathe.”  
He focused on it, drawing in air and releasing it.

“I don’t want a  _ Dad.  _ I want my  _ Finder back, _ ” Lisk choked out. And then there were tears, and his shoulder shuddered, and a hand was on his back as he curled forward, keeping his grief silent.

It took a while before he managed to dash away the brine, for the consuming pain to settle back into something awful in the back of his throat instead of filling his entire universe.

He leaned back against the aisle end, feeling tired, but dreading the thought of sleep.

“It’s going to be a long night,” he mumbled. “Mind if I stay a while?”  
Thryn shook her head. “That’s fine, if you don’t mind the tedium.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“Reading through a couple decades’ worth of reports? Master Yoda said something about a murder that happened a long time ago, so I’ve got every murder my clearance allows for.”

Lisk lifted three of the files. “Been through these yet?”

“No.”

“We’re looking for...?”

“That’s just it. Something that could make Feemor go into a complete lock-Padawan-out mode, make his room look like an insane detective who’s obsessing on some old case.”

“Murders without the perp caught,” Lisk concluded.

Thryn huffed a sigh. “That’s all of these, Lisk.”

_ Oh. Well, then.  _ “You’re hoping we’ll know it when we see it?”

“I’ve already checked to see which of his Clan mates are still alive, Finder, Master, Clan Mother, Legacy Lines, I’ve done all the narrowing I possibly could. Nothing gave me anything to use.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Lisk said, because he wanted to think of something other than  _ his  _ problem, and Force forbid he escape that just to sink into the hole that was Obi-Wan Kenobi’s death.

Thryn shrugged noncommittally, and started with another set of images and text.

Lisk chose the first from his stack and did the same, allowing his brain to focus only and  _ completely  _ on this task before him.

_ In this moment, nothing else matters. _

The focus allowed him a little respite.

 

* * *

 

Thryn stretched her neck muscles and shifted her position on the floor a little. _ Oh, Force. When am I going to just give up because I can’t stand this anymore?  _ It didn’t even look like they’d put a dent in the mass, though a large stack of  _ read  _ files proved they’d been hard at work.

_ Well, kark. _

Lisk stiffened beside her, the Force going cold and strained around him.

Thryn glanced at him, felt alarm at the pallor of his skin. “Lisk?”

“That’s  _ him. _ ” Lisk shoved the mess into her hands, trembling. “They never told me who the Jedi was who witnessed it—”

Thryn read through the report, sensed  _ pain  _ in the writing of it, so much  _ pain— _

_ Black Sun. Feemor’s informant, killed by an unknown, Force-strong stranger— _

And there, the note added years later:

_ Knight Feemor today recognized the killer by their Force Signature. Tolor Kual has not been apprehended, but is now on the run and wanted for this murder. _

Thryn looked up, saw Lisk staring at the rose-skinned Twi’lek corpse. Her neck clearly broken, eyes open and vacant, body just...  _ dropped  _ on the floor.  _ Is that the same guy? _

Thryn gently took the image from Lisk’s hands and set it on the floor. “Hey.”

“I need—” Lisk scrambled to his feet. “I need— some time— to think—” he started backing away, looking wretched.

“What about this?” Thryn held up his bag.

He shook his head, looking so  _ broken  _ that it hurt Thryn almost physically. “I can’t. I just can’t. I need to be alone.”

He fled.

Thryn sighed.  _ As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already. _

She gathered together her research, putting everything away except for the one file that mattered.

_ You. Why are you important?  _ she wondered as she stared at the dead Twi’lek.  _ I bet it’s the news Tolor’s back that has my Master in tunnel-vision. He wants to catch you. _ A behavior pattern he hadn’t even expressed for Rako Hardeen.

A furrow marred Thryn’s brow.  _ Something more important than hunting down Obi-Wan’s killer? If Feemor’s reaction to grief is to hunt, why is he not putting Tolor on hold until we catch Rako? _

_ And if Tolor is mixed up with Black Sun, what  _ does  _ he want with Lisk? _

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Thryn crawled out of bed in the morning feeling absolutely beat. Both her Master and her friend were tied up in knots about the choices of one man, and she herself, when she stopped moving long enough to think about it, felt viciously empty over the actions of yet  _ another  _ uncaring murderer.

Somehow, in a morning that looked  _ this  _ wretched, the good memories almost hurt worse than the bad ones.

She gathered things to head for the showers when a knock at her door surprised her. Thryn opened it to find Feemor standing there, expression dark, something awful hanging about him in the Force.

Thryn couldn’t find the words to speak, so she simply waited, dreading whatever was coming.

“It’s Korto Vos.”  
_ No.  _ No.  _ Not dead too, I swear I can’t _ —

“He’s murdered the leader of Kiffu in cold blood.”  
_ I’m in a nightmare. This is a dream.  _ “He...  _ what? _ ”  
Feemor held out a holodisk, and Thryn took it on automatic, clutching it tight. “He’s a spy. Remember? It’s a cover.”  
“I’ve seen the security holo, Thryn. That’s it, there. You can see his eyes. I didn’t come until I knew for sure it wasn’t faked. It’s not been altered in any way.” 

“Then the  _ holo  _ is legit, but the  _ actions  _ are staged—”

“ _ Thryn. _ ” Feemor’s voice sounded as if his heart might be breaking for her.

This wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to  _ see  _ her again, yes, but not because of something  _ this terrible. _

“Watch the recording,” Feemor murmured, and he looked so  _ sad _ for her—

And then he walked away.

Thryn slammed the button to close the door and stared down at the silent disk in her hand.

Then she threw it onto her mattress and stormed out the door to take her shower.

_ If I just  _ refuse,  _ will this whole thing just  _ stop _ ? _

 

* * *

 

Lisk rejoined Kewari for breakfast, and though he had on an  _ everything’s fine  _ mask, somehow she saw straight through it.

She leaned across the table where they sat, roll forgotten in her hand, and murmured, “What happened?”  
He looked up at her, feeling fragile. His hand slipped into his pocket, his fingers closing over the fidgeter.

“He put something in my room.”

The flare of protective  _ snarl  _ in Kewari’s eyes touched something in Lisk that he’d  _ needed. _ She’d always been there, even when he was going through that resentment phase a couple years back when she couldn’t do anything  _ right  _ in his eyes.

_ You found an angry, uncooperative little kid, and somehow saw potential in me. You chose me, and your first gift to me was one that said you accepted me for who I am. _ He gripped the fidgeter tight in his palm.  _ You weathered my anger, tried to help me find confidence, and now you’re about to tear my Finder apart for what he’s done to me. _

He needed that. Needed  _ her. _

“Test results, for a hereditary blood panel.”

Kewari looked puzzled.

“He’s claiming he’s my—”  _ No. No matter  _ what  _ he is, he is  _ not _ my dad. I don’t care what bloodline I am. If he gets to just casually reject me? I can reject him too. _ “He claims I’m his bloodline. That he sired me.”

Kewari’s warm eyes went wide. “He what?”  
“He left blood for me to test myself, but who knows if it’s actually his.” Lisk felt sick. “So if it’s not, he might have my actual father as a hostage.”

“He entered your room without your permission?”  
Lisk gave a nod. He couldn’t find  _ words  _ to describe how unsafe that made him feel.

“Alright,” Kewari murmured. “Time to fight back. You’re of age, Lisk. What do you need for us to do?”  
Lisk tried to swallow around the lump that gratitude seemed to be forming in his throat. If he had to be related to someone by blood, why couldn’t it have been to someone like  _ Kewari _ ?

_ But then I would have been raised as a civilian, not a Jedi, most likely. So maybe it’s a good thing I had barve parents. _ Boy, did  _ that  _ thought feel  _ wrong. _

“I need him to face a trial for what he did.” The corpse’s face had haunted his dreams last night.

Kewari gave a nod. “The more information the Jedi Peacekeepers searching for him have, the better the chance of that happening. Will you turn this information over to them?”

Lisk cringed. For  _ how many years  _ had he been trying to escape being the Padawan whose Finder went bad?  _ And now I get to be the Padawan whose bloodline has a murderer in it? _

Thryn wouldn’t care. Kewari clearly didn’t. The people he’d been so afraid of a few years ago were no longer in his life, they had no power over him, and anyone who wanted to bully him was going to find more than they bargained for.

Not just from Lisk, but from Kewari, if she caught wind of it.

Hell. Even from Thryn.

“Yes,” he whispered, knowing he wouldn’t be able to eat because of the terrible flutters in his stomach. “You’ll go with me?”

“The whole way.”

He looked up into those eyes, felt his own fill, and choked out, “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Thryn had returned from her shower to find Lisk and his master at her door, needing Lisk’s bag. She gave it to them, offered a fervent, “May the Force be with you,” and hoped Lisk made it through the ordeal with less trauma than he was clearly expecting.

It hadn’t been the time to mention Korto.

Thryn now stared at the disk on her bed before walking out again.

No.

_ I refuse to have this be happening. _

Instead, she marched down to the salles and trained until her legs would no longer hold her and dropped her to the floor. At that point she forced herself to eat, then trained some  _ more. _

She managed to avoid both Feemor and Lisk for the day, and when she crashed into bed that night, she still hadn’t seen what was on the disk.

 

* * *

 

“You can’t keep running from this, Thryn.”

Really? She was getting  _ that  _ from  _ Feemor _ ? 

“I’m just wondering why you pulled yourself out of your little Detective Cave to even notice what  _ I’m _ doing,” Thryn shot back.  _ My world is falling apart. Can’t you see that? Is it so difficult to wonder why I might be hesitant to knock over one of the few remaining pillars holding the structure up? _

Feemor huffed, turning around and glaring out the window. “You may mock, but I’m actively working to do something about reality instead of hiding from it.”

“Yeah?” Thryn challenged. “Just what  _ are  _ you doing? Trying to find Tolor? There’s Jedi already on that.”  
Feemor spun around, looking startled. “ _ What  _ did you just say?”

“Tolor,” Thryn repeated.

“How do you even—?”

“The Twi’lek in the pictures was the same.”

A terrible expression crossed Feemor’s face, one that made Thryn feel instant guilt. “Birdsong.”

“What?”

“Her code name was Birdsong. Only found out after she died what her other name was. Jaer Herark.”

Thryn felt the last of her frustration fading in the face of the fact her master was finally  _ communicating.  _ Five days after Obi-Wan’s murder, and maybe she was about to be let in out of the cold. “One of your assets?”

“No. She worked for SIS.”

_ Career spy. _

“Because I specialize in extraction, SIS occasionally requests for me to make drops or meets their agents can’t get to, for whatever reason.”

Thryn gave a nod. She’d seen one of the requests made. Feemor had turned it down at the time.  _ Probably to keep me off the radar.  _ Plus, they’d been busy.

“They were having issues with her handler, and Black Sun is... Force, it’s a mess. I had a Jedi based investigation going as well, so Birdsong was helping me with that too. We worked together off and on for three years.”

A throat cleared, turning master and Padawan to the dojo’s door. Lisk stood there, looking torn. “Thryn’s comm wasn’t being answered.”

She’d left it behind so Feemor couldn’t harass her. Not that it had worked out.

“I just was going to tell her what— it’s—  _ kark.  _ I heard the last bit of that, and if it’s what I think it is...” Lisk stared down at his hands. “I want to hear this.”  
Feemor looked taken aback. “Why?”

“Tolor is my Finder,” Lisk admitted, voice small.

Feemor turned away, drawing in a quick breath. When he looked back, he seemed to have aged, the last of the fight draining from his face. “Come in. Close the door.”

Lisk obeyed, moving to form a third point of a small triangle. “You were there when it happened. I need to know.”

Feemor gave a pained nod, though he had to collect himself before continuing.

Seeing his struggle, Thryn felt a little more of her frustration easing, her expression softening.

“It was Birdsong who told me Temple intelligence was in Black Sun’s hands. The Council asked me to find the leak.”

Lisk had a small device nearly hidden in his hand, his fingers working its various facets furiously.

“I was closing in. So  _ close.  _ I felt like something was wrong. This growing sense of impending  _ something.  _ It got to the point where I was worried enough that I requested a meeting outside of the normal protocol. I went to the warehouse to meet with her, and—”

Feemor’s breath trembled as he drew it in. “I walked in as Tolor killed her. I didn’t know it was Tolor, then, but I saw his Force signature.” Feemor looked down at his boots, so  _ grieved,  _ “I’ll never forget it. I didn’t give chase when he fled, because I was trying to save Birdsong. But she was gone. I called her handler, and the response was— to leave her where she fell. There were too many pieces in place. If Black Sun figured out, even after her death she’d been an  _ agent _ ... other undercover cops could have ended up dead. They told me to get out of there. I did. The holo I took for the report is the only one I have of her.”

A small breath escaped Thryn as she put the pieces together.  _ Oh... oh, Master. _

Lisk’s hand stilled, his expression devastated as he no doubt sensed as clearly as Thryn did the extent of Feemor’s heartbreak.

“When I got back to the Temple, I found my research had been trashed, and I couldn’t find any leads as to who had done it. I suspected the leak I was pursuing and the Force sensitive who killed Birdsong were the same individual. According to SIS intel, new information from the Temple was not ending up in the Sun’s hands. There was only so far I could go without any new leads. I just kept living, and doing what I’m good at doing.

“It was years later when I was walking down the hallway, and I  _ sensed  _ the being who had taken Birdsong. Just  _ walking down the hall,  _ brazen and innocent. I gave chase  _ that  _ time. That’s when we discovered his identity, and he fled. He got away.”

A tear slipped down Lisk’s cheek, and he didn’t move to wipe it away.

“And now he’s back.” Feemor looked up, gazing straight in Thryn’s eyes, “And I have that same sense of coming disaster about you.”

Startled, Thryn stared back, pulse pounding and apprehension trickling through her veins. “That’s why you’ve been unable to focus on anything else?”

“I have to catch him this time,  _ before  _ I lose my Padawan the way I lost— I can’t do this again, Thryn.”

Thryn found it difficult to swallow. “Is this why you refused to let me help you with Obi-Wan?”

“Obi-Wan,” Feemor murmured with a hopeless chuckle. “I haven’t even begun to— yes. I didn’t want you to realize I felt rather numb about Obi-Wan, and very panicked about you.”

“ _ Why _ ? Surely you would have known I wouldn’t have judged you— not after Obi-Wan and Taria.”

“What I felt for Birdsong isn’t what I was trying to hide.” Feemor’s shoulders sagged. “You have no fear, Thryn. You would have insisted on hunting him by my side, and being in harm’s way. The only way to keep you safe is to keep you  _ away  _ from him. I couldn’t save Birdsong, even though I was  _ there. _ ”

“Not enough,” Lisk murmured. “He got to me in the Temple. Twice.”

“Twice?” Thryn yelped.

Lisk winced. “Well, the time he left something in my bedroom.”

Alarm flooded Feemor’s face. “What?”  
So Lisk told him, and Feemor looked more distraught than before.

“Do you know how many people I’ve lost, Thryn?” Feemor asked, voice quiet. “My master, both of my lineage brothers, and the woman I loved.”

Thryn raised her chin. “I get it, Master. I’ve lost a master and a Finder to death. And maybe another to— to something else. And Lisk is facing something worse than even losing his Finder to oneness with the Force. We hear you, Master. Please don’t run into this alone. I need you present with me.”  
He watched her for a long moment, heart clearly sore.

And then he nodded.

 

* * *

 

In the dark of the dojo Thryn sat, Lisk on one side, Feemor on the other.

On the ground before her, the holodisk.

“Why did you let my parents die?” Korto Vos wailed, something raw and breaking in his voice.

Thryn could feel echoes of his agony.

_ What was in your past? _ Thryn realized in a heartbeat that she didn’t know. She hadn’t practiced on him the way she had on Obi-Wan and Taria.

“Out of  _ all  _ your relatives, why did you feed  _ them  _ to the Anzati?”

Lisk dragged in a quick breath, and Thryn felt as if her own had been punched out of her.

The  _ horror  _ in his eyes—

_ You saw it. Somehow, you  _ saw them—

_ Psychometry. Oh, dear Force, Korto, you  _ felt them die _ ? _

What was  _ wrong  _ with the universe?

“To gain control over you,” the other figure in the holo returned, voice horrifyingly calm. Another Kiffar, with a yellow stripe down her chin, withered with age. “So I could have a Jedi under my orders. But the Jedi take and do not give back.”

“You feel  _ you’ve _ been abused because they refused to let you have  _ authority over me _ ?”

She murmured something further, something they couldn’t quite make out, and Thryn  _ felt  _ it as Korto Vos broke. He shot her in the forehead, eyes flashing a sick yellow as he crashed to his knees, rocking, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

_ Get up,  _ Thryn found herself begging.  _ Come on. Get up and get out of there. _

A hand was gripping hers. Must be Lisk’s.

Didn’t matter, she couldn’t—

_ Come on, get out of there before they find you! _

Korto finally stood, staring down at the corpse with cold hate. He spat on its face before he turned and strode from the room.

Thryn realized her face was wet as the holo fell dark and still again.

“It was sent to us by the Kiffu chief of security,” Feemor murmured. “Demanding to know why a Jedi murdered their ruler. We’ve told them it wasn’t under our orders, but this may have lasting repercussions. Not just for Korto, but for the Republic.”

_ He promised me. Five days ago, with Master Kenobi’s corpse barely cold.  _ “He promised,” she whispered. “He  _ promised me. _ ”

“Master Kolar has been sent to find him and bring him back,” Feemor murmured, “using whatever force necessary.”

“He’s not going to try to  _ kill  _ him, is he?” Thryn asked, horrified.

No one had an answer for that.

Thryn scrambled to her feet, feeling caged by the large dueling room. “He’s an infiltrator. A  _ spy.  _ The Council  _ sent him  _ to do that—”

Neither replied.

_ But do you murder people for a cover? He lost it, there. _

“Thryn...” Feemor sounded reluctant. “If he  _ is  _ on the run and refuses to explain his actions to the Council, he might try to contact you for help or information.”

Thryn felt her blood go cold, turned and found Lisk’s eyes in the shadows.  _ Force, dear Force— _

“What are you going to do if he attempts it?” Feemor asked.

Thryn’s mouth went dry and she forced her gaze to find Feemor’s. “I  _ promised him  _ I wouldn’t believe any reports. I  _ promised  _ I would believe in  _ him. _ ”

Lisk looked worried. Feemor looked sick.

Thryn had no idea what she herself looked like. Maybe shell shocked.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Lisk wanted to train with Feemor, needing to feel like he had a chance against Tolor. Feemor wanted Thryn to train to the point of absolute exhaustion to make sure she was ready for whatever might come. Lisk wanted to teach Thryn how to evade a sleep command, to prove to himself he really knew how.

Thryn just wanted to fight and fight and  _ fight  _ until there were no thoughts left in her brain but the mournful singing of her own soul.

All three found some measure of what they wanted.

None of them felt particularly better because of it when they finally gave up and went to bed.

The following day contained a similar schedule, only minus Lisk because he had to work with Kewari.

Thryn didn’t find the physical punishment of the pace enough to clear her mind. But in the evening, when she sought out her waterfall, desperate for relief, the very sound of it tore her heart.

_ This is where Korto found me, when he decided to help me. _

_This is where Feemor and I laughed, because we had no idea how much hell was going to come our way later._

She fled the place, realizing she was going to have to recover from the loss of it feeling  _ right  _ as well.

The news of the day hadn’t been good.

Access codes, hyperspace lanes, battle plans given to the enemy...

_ Oh, Korto. _

And there was so much violence and death. Senator Viento had been murdered in his bed.

By Korto.

And he had seriously injured K’kruhk, the Jedi Master assigned to guard the Senator, while escaping.

_ People are dying because of you. People you swore to protect. _

The leader of Kiffu had been corrupt, and guilty of the deaths of his parents, but Senator Viento had done nothing worthy of death, and certainly  _ not  _ against Korto Vos.

The only threat Viento had posed was to the Confederacy, and it was the Confederacy that gained because of his death and K’kruhk’s wounding.

Thryn felt both relieved and horrified  _ by  _ that relief when Kolar returned without having captured her sole living Finder.

She tried appealing to Council and Yoda— individually, not gathered together— but that had gone even worse than she’d guessed it would.

Thryn crossed one of the high walkways, heading to her room to try to sleep, not bothering to look down at the Jedi below or the arched entrance of the Temple itself.

A sweep of turbulence in the Force had Thryn pausing, looking down. A small group of people were walking in, and others flocked toward them in rushed movements.

_ What—? _

Laughter and a cry of disbelief hit Thryn’s ears, and she could sense  _ jubilation _ .

What could possibly cause such pure  _ joy  _ in Jedi who suffered as routinely as Thryn?  _ We’re all losing people in this damned war. _

Thryn leaned over the railing, trying to see across the distance.

_ Ah, well. Better go look. _

Odd that she still felt capable of curiosity.

_ A sign, maybe, that this isn’t the end for me? If I can just hold on, there might be some light to be found? _

She just hoped it wouldn’t take too long in coming.

Huffing a sigh, Thryn turned her steps to head down the sweeping staircase to go find out what all the fuss was about.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Thryn was halfway down the stairs when she  _ saw. _

She froze, all feeling leaving her fingers, leaving them numb and cold.

His head was shaved and his beard gone, but—

In the  _ Force,  _ he—

Thryn couldn’t move as she watched him disengage himself from the other Jedi and continue on farther into the Temple, beneath the walkway Thryn had been trying to leave.

He didn’t see her.

For a long moment Thryn stared at where she’d last seen  _ Obi-Wan Kenobi,  _ and then she bounded down the stairs in pursuit.

_ I am losing my mind. _

She caught up, then hesitated as she walked behind him. On first, light brush his Force signature  _ felt  _ like Obi-Wan’s, but a closer look would be obvious to the man. And if it— if somehow—

“Your shields are slipping, Thryn,” he murmured without looking around.

Thryn felt her brain reel, then race. “How are you  _ alive _ ?”

“Better question would be  _ how was I dead _ .”

“No,” Thryn protested, moving to walk beside him, trying to see his face without tripping on her own feet, “ _ What the hell are you doing alive? _ ”

“Deep cover to try to counter a kidnapping plot aimed at the Chancellor for Naboo’s Festival of Light.”

Thryn snapped her gaze ahead to ensure she didn’t run into anybody. “There are days I hate being a spy,” she muttered.

“But you aren’t,” he replied, sounding surprised.

Thryn shrugged. “Extraction specialists, spies and agents, it blurs a bit in wartime. It’s been  _ hell  _ the last week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you hate me as well?”

“Of course not. But what do you mean  _ as well _ ?”

Obi-Wan grimaced and refused to reply.

“No,” Thryn growled, stepping into his path and stopping. “You don’t get to do that. I had to go through thinking my final gift to my Master was forever gone, and both Feemor and Lisk are walking through something  _ terrible,  _ and Korto may have—  _ gone. _ So  _ let me  _ honor Taria, Master Kenobi, or something drastic may happen.”

He stared at her in weary amazement. “Drastic?”

“I might  _ cry. _ ”

He managed a tiny smile. “Let me at least sit down first?”

“Oh, oh, wait.” As the exhausted Council member moved to the closest bench and sat, Thryn tapped her comlink. “Feemor? Yeah. So Obi-Wan’s alive.” She heard something crash. “My comm’s tracking device is now on, so you can find us.”

Obi-Wan looked up as Thryn joined him on the bench. “There’s a lot,” he warned.

“It’s alright.” Thryn winced. “No one has allowed me to practice on them, and I’ve been wound so damn tight since they brought your corpse back.”

He leaned his head back against the wall, eyelids closing as he lowered his shields, one by one, so Thryn could have access.

_ Kark. New scars. _

Inflicted by Anakin.

Thryn’s own problems faded into the background as she focused on Taria’s final request. A Padawan’s right, a Padawan’s privilege. Her responsibility, her way of honoring Taria and celebrating her master’s life.

The way Taria had chosen for Thryn specifically to mourn.

Obi-Wan’s exhaustion couldn’t hide the still-smarting wounds inflicted by Anakin. He had lashed out in anger for being lied to.

_ “It was my decision to keep the truth from you, Anakin.” _

_“_ Your _decision. You lied to me. How many lies have I been_ told _by the Council? How do you even know you have the whole truth?”_

A wedge driven between them.

It hadn’t mattered what Obi-Wan had said.

Anakin wouldn’t accept that he had felt he didn’t have a choice. Anakin wasn’t going to let this go. It would fester, build, pull them apart.

And Obi-Wan didn’t know how to keep it from happening.

But worse than that...

When Anakin had defied the Council’s direct order and gone after Hardeen in the escape, he hadn’t been seeking justice, but revenge. He’d had no intention of bringing him back to face a trial. He had the full intention of slaughtering his Master’s murderer.

It hadn’t been a sudden decision. A  _ we’re-in-battle-and-I-lost-it-in-the-heat-of-the-moment  _ murder. It was cold calculation. Premeditated. Hunting down prey.

Just one step deeper within, Thryn found a fear Obi-Wan wasn’t willing to admit even to himself. One he denied, fought to keep from fully expressing itself.

The fear that this wasn’t the first time.

And that the time before...

No one strong enough had been there to stay Anakin’s hand.

He had fought against Anakin as Hardeen, felt the full weight and darkness of that anger and hatred.

It wasn’t disturbing, it was terrible.

Thryn tried to reach that fear and pain, but her own snapped to the front of her mind, a picture of Anakin’s eyes, furious and yellow now set in Korto’s face, and Thryn jerked backwards.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan worried.

Thryn tried to catch her breath, struggling to push her way past her distress. “It’s Master Vos.”

It only took moments to explain the situation. The initial news, and the trickling in of reports since— more sightings. More bloodshed. More damage to the Republic.

“Please, Master Kenobi, he  _ wouldn’t _ turn,” Thryn finished. His shields were up again and his face unreadable. “He  _ wouldn’t do this _ .”

Obi-Wan’s response held both caution and gentleness. “Thryn... he’s never been in Balance. In his life. He’s never even come close, he has always walked in the shadows. He’s told you so himself.”

Thryn scowled. “But this is  _ turning traitor.  _ He may not love the Order, but he considers his fellow Jedi as his brothers and sisters. And beyond that, he loves the  _ Republic.  _ Leaving the Order doesn’t automatically lead to  _ treason _ .”

“He’s often spoken of the horrible conditions many of the lower dregs of society endure,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “It makes him angry.”

“That’s not the Republic’s fault, and he knows it. Those are planetary issues. Each planet has to address its own poverty problem. It’s not a matter of Republic jurisdiction, the Republic isn’t  _ supposed  _ to micromanage. Each planet has a responsibility to its own people. And the Jedi are doing what we can, but there aren’t many of us compared to the problems in the galaxy! Less than one Jedi per  _ four hundred thousand  _ star systems, and so many of those systems have multiple planets—”

Obi-Wan interrupted her. “I don’t know what to tell you, Thryn. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t believe me, do you.” Her voice choked. “Master Feemor doesn’t either. He says I’m responding emotionally. Maybe I am. But my  _ instincts tell me  _ that he would never hurt me like this.” They might not believe her, but none of them could doubt her  _ conviction. _

“Not intentionally.”

Thryn looked up into his face. “Even Tholme believes it,” she murmured. “He doubts him.”

“And Aayla Secura?”

“She’s on a mission. I don’t know. I tried talking to Master Yoda, but he doesn’t believe me. I spoke to members of the Council, but they only doubt me now. They think that since I believe he can’t have turned to the dark side, I must be dangerous too. That it casts a shadow on my character.”

Obi-Wan sent her an unconvinced  _ look.  _ “Does Master Yoda think you are close to turning?” was his pointed question.

“No. He believes in  _ me.  _ But  _ not  _ in Master Vos.”

“Do you feel yourself to be as wise as Master Yoda?” The question carried a neutral tone, not intended to bite her. “He murdered Senator Viento and gravely wounded K’kruhk, and when he killed Kh’aris Fenn it was obviously in anger. You saw the holo yourself. You couldn’t deny what you saw, even as you were telling me of it— I  _ felt  _ the horror you experienced.”

Thryn’s heart sank like a stone.

_ You don’t trust Korto. _

Never had.

Not really.

“I’m nowhere near as wise as Master Yoda, and I will never have the chance to gain centuries’ worth of experience,” she agreed, humble in her determination, “but I have a connection with Master Vos, just as surely as I have one with you. And I  _ know  _ that he wouldn’t turn to the dark side. Not after he  _ promised  _ me he wouldn’t.”

“Master Tholme has a connection with him as well,” Obi-Wan reminded. “As does Aayla. And Tonnal.”

_ I haven’t spoken with him yet.  _ And wouldn’t Korto’s Master be most likely to trust him?

Thryn risked another glance at the Jedi Master beside her, and realized he almost looked drooped, still worn with labor and sorrow.

_ Perhaps it is not a surprise he cannot find hope right now.  _ “Have you spoken with Satine yet?”  
Obi-Wan winced, and made no move to lower his shields. “I—” he began, then paused. Then started again. “I did  _ not  _ want to take this mission. The thought was horrible. But it was the Chancellor, and the Council asked me for sound reasons. I felt I had to, Thryn.”

Thryn gave a nod.  _ There’s a reason Feemor is keeping me as far away from the spying side of our craft as he can.  _ Those who embarked on such roles rarely walked away unscathed. It was a cruel, unforgiving business.

“No. I haven’t spoken to Satine yet. Or Senator Organa.”

_ You’re somewhat afraid to.  _ “The Senator blamed himself. For your death.”

“What?” Obi-Wan yelped, staring at her. “He  _ did _ ?”  
“You should have sensed that blaster bolt coming. Been able to avoid it or knock it aside with your lightsaber. You didn’t. Which meant something was wrong. Something dulled your abilities so you didn’t sense it. Something that was intermittent, because you were fine the night before, on your mission.”

“Zigoola,” he muttered, looking away.

She nodded. “I tried to tell him it wasn’t his doing.”

“Good.”

“But he deserves to have you go see him. Please make sure and do it.”

“I will. Tonight.”

“And Satine?”  
Obi-Wan sighed. “I’ll... I’ll contact her.”

“I’ll let you get to that,” Thryn said, standing and bowing. “Good night, Master Kenobi. And you have no idea how glad we are that you  _ aren’t _ really dead.”

“I felt the welcome as I came in.”

Thryn saw Feemor approaching and sent him a weary smile. He would want some time alone with the lost one who had actually been  _ returned  _ to him.

_ You haven’t lost everyone, Master. And I will do everything I can to make sure you don’t lose me. _

 

* * *

 

As Feemor and Obi-Wan shook hands, the elder of the two experienced a tumult of pangs. Almost all of them good.

He was  _ back.  _ One of the people in Feemor’s circle of protection had  _ returned. _

Thryn needed this win. Hell.  _ Feemor  _ needed this win.

They didn’t speak much, since Feemor had little to say and Obi-Wan was far too tired, but what Feemor needed, he received.

Obi-Wan was alive.

It sparked hope in Feemor’s chest, a thought that  _ maybe  _ they could take down Tolor and make it out alive.

 

* * *

 

The next day almost felt like a real day for Thryn, not the bizarre fog she’d been wandering around trapped inside.

The familiar walls of the Antarian Rangers’ Coruscant Lodge surrounded her as Thryn tapped deep into her hand— and knife— techniques, without allowing the Force to assist her in any way.

Today was a  _ Covert Battle Against Multiple Opponents Day _ , and Lisk had tagged along, wanting to pick up a few more urban and gang survival skills, since Tolor had known ties to Black Sun.

Right now, Thryn wasn’t even sure where he was. All that mattered were the seven Rangers coming after her with short lengths of wood, practice knives, or their fists.

Her pulse beat a happy tattoo, and as she settled into the rhythm of combat, special little flurries of content began to swirl through her bloodstream too.

Force, this felt good.

“Rein it in, Thryn,” Feemor called.

His warm, focused tone brought a happiness all its own as Thryn reinforced her shields to disguise her Force signature and then zeroed in on how to end the battle instead of just drifting in her own headspace.

_ End it as quick as possible,  _ she reminded herself. Standard street survival techniques. Long fights drew crowds, unwanted attention, and potentially more enemies.

Knife against the throat of one.  _ Six. _ Her foot with a crushing blow to the knee of another, drawn just a half-inch short.  _ Five. _

She evaded the strike of another, he nearly got her with that one—

Her body met her intent again and again, some of her moves not as precise as she would have liked, she’d need to hone those a bit more—

_ Five. _

_Four... Three._

_Two._

_One._

_Done._

Thryn sprang for the doorway and slipped into the hall, knowing Feemor would follow and watch. She ducked through the first doorway she came to, caught up a jacket hanging on a hook, threw it on, pulled her hair out of its low nerf tail, and shook its gold-brown strands around her shoulders, then slapped a hat from the shelf on her head.

_ Change my profile. Check. _

She ducked out of the room, heading for the sound of voices at a purposeful walk.

_ Best way to run away: walk. _

A pursuer's brain was looking for someone with agitated movements.

_ Security cam. _ It was a new one, and Thryn felt a little spike of adrenaline when she noted it. She watched it to see its field of vision, then diverted down the cross-hall.

Once in the gathering hall of the lodge, she wandered through the low-speaking, laughing crowd, fingers tucking into pockets, and over wrists.

This part took work. Not so much for the actual act of pilfering, but to keep the damn smile off her face because it was just so much  _ fun  _ when trained,  _ vigilant  _ people missed her thieving.

Life as Feemor’s apprentice, while sometimes frightening and intensely grueling work,  _ did  _ have its high points.

She ended once she located Lisk, sitting down on the bench behind him as she listened— covertly— to what was being said by the Ranger speaking to him.

“...think this planet is wrecked because of pollution and sentient noise?”

_ Uh-oh. _

“Think again, Padawan. Yes, there are terrible, deformed, harmful plants. But see—? This lichen has medicinal properties. These vines?”

Thryn angled her head just a little to catch sight of the holos the Ranger flicked through in succession out of the corner of her eye.

“They  _ consume  _ toxic waste and pollutants in the air, turning out oxygen. You think that by stacking buildings on a planet you can destroy life? Life  _ always  _ finds its way. But if you really  _ listened  _ to the Force, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Does Coruscant feel  _ dead  _ in the Force, or loud with life?”

“Most of it is sentient, though,” Lisk shot back.

A shrug. “Maybe in the places you frequent. Do some exploring, sometime. You’ll be shocked at what you find. And is sentient life  _ less valuable,  _ less  _ natural  _ than the nonsentient type?”

A hand clamped over Thryn’s wrist, and Lisk spun around. The light gleaming in his eyes wasn’t the usual pleased triumph of a win, though. It had a bit of an alarmed edge to it.

_ Tolor lurking somewhere is taking a toll on him,  _ Thryn knew.

“Got you.”

“Well done,” Feemor murmured. “Both of you.”

Thryn allowed herself a grin at last. The first year of her training had focused heavily on wilderness survival. The last year, in evading gang warfare and urban survival. It had been what felt like ages since the last time Thryn set foot in a forest.

Fortunate for Lisk, who feared the possibility of his own kidnap and suddenly  _ needed  _ the skills Feemor was teaching right now anyway. Thryn expected many more joint-lessons, instead of only sharing the piloting training with Lisk.

Kewari seemed to prioritize Lisk gaining these newly-valuable skills, and was moving their schedule to allow for more of it.

“Alright, Thryn. Let’s close out the exercise.”

Thryn hopped up onto the small stage and whistled with two fingers. The party paused, the Rangers looking over at her in first curiosity, then  _ knowing. _ A few curses and groans moved through the crowd.

With a smile she knew was probably annoying but she really couldn’t help, Thryn proceeded to empty her pockets of the loot she’d thieved, holding each item up as its sheepish or grumpy owner moved forward to collect it.

When it was over, she bowed and moved to stand by Feemor’s side, glad in this moment to simply exist.

 

* * *

 

Feemor took Lisk home in the speeder while Thryn set off on foot. She’d be navigating the edges of Justicar territory today, and while Feemor still experienced the twinges of usual master worry for his padawan, he also knew she was ready for longer runs on her own.

_ And she can’t progress farther until she’s mastered staying out of trouble. _

Lisk sat silent and pensive, staring out at the giant towers passing by.

“You did well,” Feemor offered, merging into traffic.

Lisk sent him a quick glance. “What if I don’t have time to learn enough fast enough?”

“What is it you think Tolor is going to do that you need to protect against?”

“ _ Anything. _ ” Lisk sagged in his seat. “I have no idea what I need to prepare for.”

Feemor wanted to speak, to point out that such a heightened state of watchfulness would burn Lisk out before the battle even arrived, but he couldn’t find his voice.

Feemor himself was too hyper-aware. Too fuzzy on just what  _ terrible thing  _ was heading Thryn’s way.

With Obi-Wan being alive, and Korto’s betrayal already complete, but  _ also  _ the edge of blade against his mind still present, Feemor had no idea from which angle the disaster might strike.

Hell, he wouldn’t have thought Birdsong would be in trouble because of the Temple Leak. Not at that time, that place.

_ What was Tolor even doing there? _

Answers that could only be had once the man was in custody.

“I mean, he’s had access to me  _ twice,  _ and he hasn’t really  _ done  _ anything. I don’t know what he wants from me.”

It’s a question Feemor pondered even after the speeder was parked and Lisk gone, headed back to his medical studies.

He’d begun making a mental chart of possibilities when a quiet voice caught his attention. “Master Feemor. Have a minute?”

 

* * *

 

Thryn raced down the handrail of a set of stairs instead of taking the actual steps, then launched from the end of it onto a decorative stone pillar, careful not to use the Force. She paused, noted the cams along her originally intended path, turned, and leaped to a ledge in a different direction.

Her comm went off.

“Sein?” She murmured.

“This is the Temple. We have a Jedi team in need of immediate assistance, just inside Justicar territory. You seem to be closest?”  
“I’m here,” Thryn confirmed, glancing up at an old, faded poster of the founder of the gang. She’d been careful to stay just outside their reach, but...

“Sending you their coordinates. With all speed, Padawan Sein.”

_ Not good, then. _

Thryn considered the holomap that sprang up from her comm, turned, and backtracked to find the closest point of entry.

Wouldn’t do to get detained even before she reached the extraction point.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Thryn noticed the watcher just before she planned to enter Justicar grounds.  _ Force damn. _

She immediately employed evasion tactics, coming back around and entering only when she felt she’d likely lost him.

_ Speed over stealth. _

There could be lives on the line.

_ We’ll fight our way out if we have to. _

_ Better contact Master for backup for the return trip. _

She doubted the Justicars would pursue them much past the borderlines, but if they  _ did,  _ it wouldn’t hurt to have help on the way.

 

* * *

 

Feemor didn’t like the fact that the subject matter Jed Tonnal wanted to discuss required leaving the echoing speeder bay.

_ You don’t want us overheard. _

What could Korto Vos’ former master want with him?

“I had recently the privilege of sparring with your Padawan,” Tonnal said as he closed the door to the meditation chamber behind them.

Feemor watched him. “Was it one?”

“Yes.” Tonnal settled himself on a round meditation platform. “I wanted to speak to you about the long-term strategy for keeping her healthy.”  
Feemor felt his hackles ready, just in case. “You worry about her Falling?”  
“Feemor, all of us are in danger of Falling. The Dark comes from within, not without. I do not think her  _ more  _ likely to Fall than any of the rest of us.”

It wasn’t difficult to sense the lingering ache this man endured from his own former Padawan’s current state. Feemor settled on the cushion opposite him, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knees, and waiting for Tonnal to make his point.

“She experiences a hunger, does she not? Combined with a desire to leave no lasting harm?”  
Feemor gave a small nod.

“While that is an unusual trait within our Order, my travels have brought me into contact with individuals with a similar experience, who have no connection to the Force.”

A frown of thought crossed Feemor’s brow. “Do you think her unusual Force signature is due to her... hunger?”

“I do not. I think that she is experiencing two different things, both unusual to the Order, and because of it, they are being mistaken for one thing. I believe both are naturally occurring, and not inherently harmful. Korto spoke quite a bit of her gift for easing soul pain. I believe her two traits compliment one another nicely, but when she’s out there feeding on an enemy’s pain, she certainly isn’t granting him peace.”

_ Just the opposite.  _ “You do not think her damaged, then.”

“No, I do not.”

Feemor relaxed just a bit more.  _ We may be able to have a conversation, then. _ “If she believes in her moral compass and holds to it, is that not a long-term plan?”

“It is, but she still has a need to be met. It is an unusual one to be sure, but present all the same. Do you plan for her to always take violent missions in order to find that need met?”

Discomfort trickled back into Feemor’s heart again. “Do you have another option? These people you speak of, are they mercenaries?”

“No, they are not. I met lawyers, engineers, scientists, and more. People from many different walks of life. They have found a form of symbiosis where they answer a need in a matching set of individuals, providing the energy transfer each requires in a way that leaves no lasting harm, and is based on respect and care going both directions.”

Feemor frowned. “A matching set?”

“Thryn reacts with hunger to pain and fear. There are beings out there who desire to experience— in a safe and caring format— to experience induced pain and fear.”

Understanding began to dawn in Feemor’s mind. He chewed on the thought for a moment, not at  _ all  _ comfortable anymore. “I do not believe Thryn to be a person interested in encouraging a person’s self-hatred.”

“Indeed, which is why instead of finding  _ anyone  _ who craves pain, one would need to be found who is both emotionally independent and stable.”

Feemor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even if such a thing could be accomplished, I doubt the _wisdom_ of it. As it is now, she gains something from violence. It’s pointless to deny it, but at least she is learning to control her choices in spite of the... chemicals her body offers up. How is giving her someone to _hurt_ in a conscience-approved way _not_ escalating her?”

“A valid question. On the other hand: if actually injuring other beings in battle is the only way in which she can gain a filling of this need, will she ever have access to a future that does not include violence? Do you want her to be a hitter and extraction artist until the day she dies? Does  _ she  _ want that?”

_ Oh. _ Feemor hadn’t asked that particular question before, so focused instead on teaching Thryn the skills she needed to stay alive.  _ I need to ask that question.  _ On the other hand, the mental image of Thryn in glossy black and holding a riding crop wasn’t one he particularly liked. “Is not the path you suggest... dangerous?”  _ On multiple counts? _   
“It requires a set of survival skills, just like any other. Though I would point out that within reputable circles, she is far less likely to encounter those desirous of killing her than she is in the line of work she is currently training for.”

Feemor quirked an eyebrow at him. “Would you advise  _ against  _ her becoming an extraction specialist?”

“No. I think she would be quite good at it. And if it’s what she wants, may the Force go with her. But options, Master Feemor. Is it truly a choice if the options appear to be this and a chance of hunger filled, or anything else and an unsatisfied ache for the rest of her life?”

Feemor sighed. “You have a point.”

“I approached you because I would not speak to her of it without speaking to you first.”

“I assume you know of... reputable places?”

“I do.”

“Of people you trust who could teach her the skills necessary to keep her safe?”

“Yes.”  
_ She is an adult, but not a knight. _ Knighthood was when the last of Feemor’s authority over her would quietly step back.  _ Have I trained her well enough to be safe, even if she chooses an outlandish life practice? _

He didn’t know.

He had until her knighting to make sure to fill in any gaps in her arsenal.

“I will speak to her of it. If she has interest in learning more, she will speak to you herself.”

Tonnal gave a nod. “You are doing well by her, Master Feemor. You have every reason to be proud of the knight you are raising.”

“I hope so.” Feemor stood, shook Tonnal’s hand.

“One last thing.” Tonnal slipped him a card with a holonet address on it. “This is the main hub of information.”

Feemor turned it over, then placed it in his pocket. “Alright.”

With a smile, Tonnal left the room.

_ I doubt we will have much attention to give this until Tolor is apprehended. _

His comlink chimed, Thryn’s frequency.

“Hey, Master. I think I could use some backup, just in case things go ugly.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re going to  _ give  _ me the names of those involved!”

Thryn felt her heart drop into her boots.

_ I have to rescue  _ them _ ? _

Sure enough, as she peered around the corner, she saw the two Jedi in distress.

Tejj Cahl had his saber hilt out, as if it were a badge, and Padawan Aldergastek stood beside him, a sneer on her face. Around them stood twenty Justicars Conscripts.

Thryn felt like pounding her head against the wall.

_ You can’t just come in here and wave your authority around and expect them to comply. _

This was far outside the realm where Jedi and police were at the top of the food chain.

Thryn considered the standoff, trying to find the best mode of attack.

_ Twenty’s a bit much. _

She couldn’t help but remember her  _ last  _ rescue against sticky odds. 

_Kark._

Talking.

Thryn stepped out into the open, walking into the center of the street. “There you are. Everyone’s out looking for you.”

Justicars turned, blasters shifting to cover Thryn as well.

Thryn kept her hands loose by her sides. “Hello, gentlebeings. Looks like these two are a little bit lost.”

“They’re not  _ lost _ ,” spat a Justicar. “They came in here  _ threatening us _ !”

“I’ve got a dead body, and  _ someone  _ is going to give me the name of who dropped him!” Cahl barked.

_ Oh, Master. _

Thryn took a step closer. “Master Cahl, perhaps it would be better to walk out of this now, before our reinforcements arrive.” She held her lightsaber in her hand, but not in a threatening way. Just letting the Conscripts know they were facing  _ three  _ Jedi, and possibly more, instead of two.

There. Naesi was  _ not  _ at all convinced her Master was going to get them out of this alive. There was fear lurking behind her shields, a knowledge they’d stepped in too deep, too far.

_ And our master’s arrogance will keep him from stepping away. _

Naesi had undoubtedly been the one to signal the Temple for help.  _ Without  _ her Master’s permission.

Thryn could feel the tension in the area building, a dangerous escalation.

_ Think of something quick, Thryn, or this is not going to end well. _

Dead Justicars. By lightsabers. Possibly a dead Padawan Aldergastek, depending on how good she was with blaster deflection.

_ We don’t need a war with the Justicars. We have enough trouble on our hands right now. _

Especially since they kept to their own territory and didn’t try to expand. Unlike certain  _ other  _ parties.

_ Why can’t you just accept that the law doesn’t have possession of our capital? Might be embarrassing, but these regions are  _ not  _ safe for us, for anybody outside the gang. _

Thryn decided to take a gamble. “The cops are about to release your witness.”

“ _ What _ ?” Cahl snapped.

“Not enough to hold him, and you’re not there.” It might be a shot in the dark, but Thryn guessed it to be a good one. He wouldn’t be  _ here  _ if he didn’t have intel for it. He wouldn’t let his source go until he’d ascertained if it was good intel or not, and if he was blustering here trying to force information out of people when he had absolutely  _ no  _ leverage, he must  _ need  _ it.

He cursed, spun on his heel, and walked out of the ring of Justicars.

Naesi walked backwards behind him, eyes still narrowed in apparent scorn to hide her faltering courage.

Gang members shifted, Thryn saw the indications of aggression—

Thryn leveled her gaze at the man she’d pegged to be in charge.  _ Another Conscript, by the uniform. Forced into the militia, not volunteered. Not particularly respected.  _ “How would a scrap here, when I’ve got these guys already leaving, benefit you  _ or  _ me?” His gaze shifted to meet hers, still unconvinced. “Both of us have kark jobs. Frip, I got sent to reel in these two. Let’s say we start a war between the Justicars and the Jedi Order right now. It’s not like you want the headache your bosses would rain down on your head for it. And hell, I don’t particularly want to go back home to get yelled at for it either. How about I take my guys out of your land, and both of us can avoid our bosses ripping us a new one.” 

“You keep him  _ out  _ of here,” growled the man in return, still bristling with threat.

_ Don’t challenge him, or to defend his pride he will be _ forced  _ to attack. _

Thryn didn’t reply, instead giving him a head-nod to let him have the last word, and ushered the two lost Orderlings out of the alley, to lead the way to the quickest exit from Justicar territory.

Once on the other side, she pounced on the closest vehicle, tagging the coordinates for it to be returned later, and slipped beneath the speeder to disengage the safety measures.

Twenty seconds later she was in the driver’s seat, a grumbling Cahl in the back and Naesi in the passenger’s.

Thryn launched the speeder up and out, aiming for the closest safe zone.

“Useless police,” growled Cahl. “I told them not to let Strickken go!”

Naesi grimaced.

Thryn slipped through the light traffic, placing distance and people between them and the Justicar line-of-sight.

“Those impertinent gangers. If our  _ police force  _ wasn’t so  _ incompetent,  _ we’d have had time to wring out some answers!”

Thryn kept her expression professional and didn’t glance back.

_ You would have had nothing but blood. Everywhere. _

“And the fact they sent  _ you _ ?” Cahl sneered. “How do you like being reduced to messenger-girl?”

Several possible retorts sprang to mind. _ I’m your rescue, dumbass.  _ Or, _ Saving you from your own stupidity isn’t my job description anymore.  _ Maybe even,  _ I lied, genius. _

Instead, she kept her voice collected and calm as she edged the speeder into another lane. “I live to serve.”  
Naesi slid lower in her seat, looking like she wanted to be  _ anywhere  _ but  _ here. _

_ She recognizes it would have gone bad if I hadn’t shown up. _

The other young woman definitely didn’t like that feeling of embarrassment.

Thryn didn’t smirk, didn’t smile, managed to keep coolly efficient as she tapped her comm’s homing beacon to see how close Feemor—

Ah. There.

He pulled the Temple speeder up beside her, glanced over at them. “Everyone alright?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Your Padawan interrupted my questioning,” Cahl complained. “I was close to getting a name, too.”

Feemor sent a swift glance at Thryn, but she kept her countenance clear. He didn’t say anything until they reached the precinct where Cahl had left his prisoner.

They left Feemor’s speeder for the irate and humiliated— respectively— and took Thryn’s borrowed speeder back in the direction they’d come from to collect Cahl’s own Temple ride.

As they went, Feemor tapped at the console, retrieved the interior recording.

He sat silent, watching Thryn’s lack of reactions to that  _ obnoxious  _ ride, and then he leaned back in the passenger’s seat, grinning from ear to ear.

“What?” Thryn asked.

“I am so proud of you right now.” Chuckles shook his form and his eyes sparkled as he met her quick glance in his direction.

“Why? Because I extracted them?”

“No!” Feemor patted his knee with such excited enthusiasm that the image of a delighted tooka bouncing up and down sprang unasked for into Thryn’s mind. “You looked so professional and collected! Padawan Aldergastek  _ knew  _ her master was full of it, and he just  _ would not admit it, _ though really, somewhere deep in there he probably knows, but he couldn’t get  _ anything  _ out of you beyond absolute professionalism. You made him look like an amateur just by  _ being there.  _ Force, I am so proud to call you Padawan!”

Thryn felt a rush of warmth drive out the last of the frustrated tension left over from Cahl’s arrogance.

As she brought the speeder in for a landing, she smiled. “You know, it hurt when he disowned me, but I realized while ferrying them that I wouldn’t, for  _ anything,  _ want to still be in Naesi’s place. I’m  _ glad  _ I’m with you.”  _ This definitely stole any last bit of jealousy that may have been lingering in my heart. _

Feemor sent her a gentle, affectionate smile before sliding out of the speeder and heading for Cahl’s.

“Alright,” Thryn murmured to the dash cam. “Let’s get you back home.” She guided it back to where her comm said the house stood and parked it, tucking an appropriate credit chip under the dash.

The owner would watch the security vid, no doubt, and find the compensation there.

Thryn crawled back under the speeder, reset the systems, and then lightly slapped the nose of the vehicle to set off its alarm.

_ And job complete. _

Feemor swooped in and paused, and Thryn hopped into the passenger’s seat, met his grin with one of her own, and settled back as he headed for the Temple.

All was normal and quiet— if a bit energized since Feemor was still savoring Thryn’s “dignified put down,” of the team until the last few blocks.

Thryn caught sight of a face in a speeder they passed—

“Master. I recognize him.”

“Who?”

But he was lost in the traffic, and Thryn could not relocate him. “Some guy. He was following me at the edge of Justicar territory, before I got the Cahl comm.”

Feemor hit a button on his comm, passed it to her.

“Yeah. That’s him,” Thryn confirmed, eyeing the holo he’d provided.

Feemor’s fingers tapped at the controls, not pushing any, but a nervous tick. “That’s Tolor,” he said, voice quiet and all of the enthusiasm from earlier gone.

“Why is he following me?” Thryn asked, scanning the other speeders again.

Feemor’s concern and lack of answers whispered through the Force in return.

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Thryn did  _ not  _ appreciate the sensation of being hunted.

It charged her blood with vicious, unsettled energy.

She only tried sleeping for about an hour before she decided tossing and turning was stupid, and headed down to one of the training rooms.

Something all through her hissed that she wasn’t  _ made  _ to be the  _ hunted. _

Her own ego wanted to purr in her ears that she was the  _ hunter. _

_ Not yet,  _ she reminded herself.  _ I’m still in training. _

She didn’t think fluffing herself up with victories of the past would help her future, and it certainly wouldn’t make her  _ better.  _ That way lead a plateau.

_ Become better. _

So she didn’t program one of the training droids to one of the simulations she’d already beaten.

She instead took a large step  _ up. _

The droid’s outer shell flickered, replaced with a holographic representation of a woman with a double-bladed lightsaber, her eyes finding Thryn’s and narrowing.

Satele Shan, grand master of the Jedi Order a few thousand years earlier. A woman who had faced the murder of her master, and multiple wars on a scale of devastating atrocity.

_ Alright. _

Thryn lit her saber, and began.

 

* * *  
  


Four minutes later, Thryn lay sprawled on the floor again.

For the fourth time.

Satele spun her saber, braced it to the side, and held a hand out in readiness before her face.

_ Oh, Force,  _ Thryn groaned.  _ I have so much to learn. _

A noise in the door had Thryn looking up. She found Lisk standing there, saber in hand.

_ Same idea as I had. Not surprising he can’t sleep either. _

“Hey,” Thryn grunted, sitting up. “Is there anybody in particular you want? Because I’m not going to be beating Master Shan tonight.”  _ And without a lot more experience, let’s be real. _

Lisk moved to the training droid, tapping at the controls. In a moment the form flickered, then took the image of—

_ The man who followed me. _

That churning disgust in her blood was back.

_ Oh, dear. _

_ Now, he’s had years of experience since this simulation was created, so he’s probably picked up skills in that time he didn’t have then. If we beat him, don’t get complacent. _

_Complacency kills._

Thryn dragged herself to the side of the room, too winded from her rear being handed to her very firmly by Satele to engage in this fight yet.  _ Maybe after Lisk is done. _

It occurred to Thryn that maybe, as a friend, she shouldn’t watch, but her hunter instincts overrode it.

This information could save her life, or Lisk’s some day.

Lisk fought, and fought well... but not  _ very  _ well. Thryn could sense his discomfort with confronting  _ that  _ face,  _ that  _ saber style, and it was handicapping him.

And then the holographic saber indicated it had gone through his chest, and Lisk froze, breathing hard, staring at the floor.

_ Is this even healthy? _

Thryn didn’t know, but since Lisk had decided to challenge this personal demon, she didn’t want him to walk away in defeat.

“Let’s try again,” she suggested, walking over and thumbing her saber on. “Together this time.”

Lisk looked up, expression beaten, but he agreed.

He fought better, though still not at his peak.

But, as Thryn quickly discovered, even if he  _ had...  _ it might not have been enough.

Tolor’s training blade clipped Thryn’s shoulder and he gave her no chance for recovery before he was in her space, stealing away the vor and forcing her into the nacht. She tried to seize the in des, but found herself on the floor and scrabbling backwards while Lisk distracted his holographic Finder for a moment.

_ We’re in trouble. _

Thryn launched back into the fight, knowing she needed something different. She threw in some Forceless non-saber combos, and took down the droid, Lisk closing in and placing his saber beneath the holo’s throat.

_ But this Tolor hadn’t spent over a decade in the underworld, courtesy of Black Sun. The modern Tolor may be far more accustomed to desperate street fighting. _

In which case...

_ We are totally tooled. _

“Teach me that,” Lisk demanded, his saber turning off.

Thryn looked up from where she sat beside the deactivated droid. There was a fire in Lisk’s eyes that alarmed her, something that looked almost mad.

“It won’t guarantee victory,” she cautioned. “The real one might know these moves—”

But her friend was frightened, and needing something,  _ anything  _ to stop feeling like prey.

Thryn could understand and respect that discomfort.

“Alright,” she agreed.

They worked until neither could keep their eyes open, and then they parted ways, bruised and aching, to their separate rooms.

Thryn made sure to scan hers before entering, and felt just a little grumpy over one man for deciding to try to make her life more complicated than it needed to be.

 

* * *

 

Aayla Secura had returned to the Temple, and K’kruhk was out of intensive care.

Thryn had plans.

She sought out Tonnal first, since Secura was with the Council.

The man looked slightly surprised when she told him she wanted to speak about Korto, but that quickly faded into echoes of pain.

“You don’t believe Korto has betrayed the Republic, do you?”

Tonnal sighed, looking older than Thryn had thought him before. “Korto has long thought the Republic should do more about the crime and poverty on its constituent worlds.”

“If a world cannot face its  _ own  _ issues and responsibilities, how will it every  _ grow _ ?” 

Tonnal leveled her a  _ look.  _ “How much interference the Republic should enact against the independence of each of its systems’ local governments is a debate you and I will not be able to settle here and now.”

“I’m not here for politics, I’m here for Korto.”

“Padawan Sein.” Tonnal eased himself down onto the bench in the hallway in which they stood, and waited for a small gaggle of padawans to pass before continuing. “It is entirely possible that Korto does not see his loyalties as to the Republic, but to its people.”

“But—”

The master held up his hand, a request for her to let him finish. She fell silent.

“You do not believe he would be willing to betray his loyalties. It’s possible he feels he hasn’t. In which case, he might still be a Separatist, but not see himself as a traitor.”

Thryn stared at him in disbelief. “You do  _ not  _ believe he has Fallen? You  _ cannot _ ?”

“Fallen and traitor are two different things.”

Terrible suspicion soured through Thryn. “You believe him both.”

“Thryn, there is something you need to understand.  _ Any one of us  _ could Fall. It usually is not some hideous decision with a sign pointing to it saying  _ choose now _ . For a few people it might be like that, but our own selfishness is a creeping thing. Small concessions of conscience for the sake of what we want often lead to bigger ones. I do not look at my former padawan and think  _ this man is a terrible being,  _ and it is not that I do not trust him. But evil is insidious, Thryn, and it rarely wears its own face. It often looks gentle and reasonable. And if you’ve been feeding a little from its table... it might be difficult to see the hideousness of the feast once it’s served.”

Thryn’s throat closed, and her eyes burned. “I have to go,” she whispered, unable to bear his gaze any longer.

She walked away feeling shaken. Not in her faith towards her circle of people— oh, no, her Master, her Finders, Lisk and Kewari could  _ never  _ do something like this— but she couldn’t deny some of what Jed Tonnal had said.

Darkness  _ did  _ creep slowly, brought out by choices made from placing self— and the things and people belonging to self— as more important than anyone else.

Aayla Secura.

Thryn tracked her down, finding her in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, sitting beneath one of the spreading trees.

Sitting across from her, Thryn folded her knees in a mirror pose, waiting to be acknowledged.

After several long moments, lashes lifted from tired eyes. “Can I help you?”

“I am Padawan Thryn Sein.”  
Thryn sensed the woman knew, and sensed dread, also. “Korto.”

“He interfered in my Honoghr mission.” Secura’s blue lekku drooped. “He was— he was going to kill me. Bly stopped him.”

Thryn felt her heart drop out of her chest.  _ No.  _ “Who’s Bly?” she rasped.

“My Clone Commander. He shot Korto in the shoulder, and Korto fled to his ship. Took off.” Secura pressed a hand to her forehead. “Master Tholme was right, but I didn’t want to believe him. I couldn’t believe that Korto—”

Thryn couldn’t stand it. “Korto Vos  _ would not  _ Fall. He—”

Haunted eyes found hers, and Thryn’s voice failed.

“But he did, once before. Back when his memory was stolen. And so did I, when mine was stolen. We came back. The Jedi found Korto, and Master Windu worked so hard with him... gave him so much. And Korto set out to find me. He refused to give up, he wouldn’t rest until he’d rescued me. He was light for me in the darkness. But now—”

“What happened on Honoghr?” Thryn asked.

There was no way in hell that Korto Vos had tried to kill the youngling he’d Found, the padawan he’d trained until he couldn’t anymore, with Quinlan and then Tholme taking over. Those four were tied together in a way that even Thryn, on the outside observing, could  _ feel  _ the strength of.

“We needed to get the SIP from the downed Confederate ship.”

Thryn frowned. “To prove the Confederacy intentionally poisoned the planet.” Without the SIP, the galaxy only had the Jedi’s word for it that they hadn’t been responsible for the atrocity on Honoghr.

The Noghri might not be the kindest or gentlest of sentients, but they hadn’t deserved to be...

Thryn shivered at the thought of how everything was  _ dying  _ around them, the inhabitants helpless to stop it.

“Plenty of people want to blame the Republic— or simply the war. But this was a war crime. There was  _ a person  _ who gave the order— something that shouldn’t be allowed to pass under a vague  _ everyone’s at fault  _ smokescreen. If not stopped, they will do it again.”

Thryn’s fingers dug into her knees. “How bad is it?”  
“The planet isn’t dead yet, but the poisons that have been released won’t be able to be purged. The technology to do so hasn’t been invented yet, and we don’t even have a good idea of  _ when  _ we’ll have a working system to do so. Honoghr will wither slowly and die. The SIP can ensure those responsible are revealed to  _ both  _ sides. These kinds of people thrive in obscurity, their cruelties hidden in the numbers. I wasn’t going to let it happen this time.” Secura stared at her hands, a furrow on her brow.

_ Surely, even if Korto believed the Separatist movement had merit, he wouldn’t try to hinder an investigation into something so awful. _

“The Noghri let us land, heard me out, then decided  _ no.  _ They cut off our communication lines and bombed our landing ship so we couldn’t leave, and when we decided to try to get the SIP since we’d already lost good men, they fought us every step of the way. We did our best not to kill more than we had to. They are fearsome warriors. By the time we reached the SIP, only Bly and I had survived, and our communications were still out. We had a ship in atmosphere, waiting, ready for our signal. And at the point when everything seemed lost, there was Korto. He had the SIP.”

Thryn squeezed her hands tighter round her knees to keep them from shaking. “And?”

“I pushed him for the truth. I had to find out whose side he was on. He claimed he was still for us, the Republic, the Jedi. That he hadn’t Fallen. He said he had lost it on Kiffu—”

_ He owned the recording? _

“— but that his investigations had led him to believe Senator Viento was the second Sith. The Sith Master. Korto pointed out he had only injured Master K’kruhk, not killed him, and offered a gesture of goodwill. He would help Bly and I get off the planet, drop us off at our ship, let us take the SIP, and he would tell his Separatist handler he’d arrived too late— that we had gotten it before he got there.”

Thryn frowned. “And the Separatists put such high priority on it because—?”

“Dooku, trying to keep his name looking spotless. If it got out he’d agreed to the poisoning of Honoghr just to make a point... the planets who belong to the Confederacy because they respect him might leave it. Join the Neutral Systems or return to the Republic. They follow him because they believe he isn’t corrupt. This would burn that belief to pieces.”

“How can they  _ not know _ ?” Thryn demanded, disgusted.

Secura shrugged. “The average Confederate never sees a battlefield, what Dooku’s droids leave behind— or  _ don’t _ . The war is being funded by Dooku out of the generosity of his  _ big heart,  _ so they’re not feeling the pinch of hunger to fund the droids. Their families are not being drafted to fight. They attribute the destruction and chaos to the clones, when our boys are working so hard to keep civilians safe... keep the buildings undamaged...”

Thryn’s clone experience was pretty much confined to her mission with Korto, two years prior. But her observations matched Secura’s, and the Twi’lek had been living and bleeding with them, suffering side-by-side with them.  _ She would know. _

“My instincts told me not to trust him,” Secura murmured, the words sounding bitter in her mouth, “but I ignored them. I wanted to believe in him. I couldn’t believw he had betrayed us—  _ me.  _ He was my Finder, one of my Masters, he would die to protect me. I thought...” A tear slipped down her cheek, silent and pained. “I thought he loved me. He was one of my fathers... but he manipulated my feelings for him as my master. We fought to escape, and he led us right into a trap. And then, when Bly was unable to help, Korto told me he would take the SIP to Dooku and leave us to our fate.”

It took every ounce of Thryn’s control to remain seated, to not stand and just...  _ leave.  _ Ignore what was happening here, just stop the words, not hear any of it—

“I might have thought he was being monitored, you know?” Secura didn’t bother to brush away the tear. “Watched somehow. That it was an act. All until I saw his eyes and read his sense. I managed to snag the SIP away from him. He attacked. I fought back, defense only. It finally reached a point where I would either have to kill him, or he would kill me. I couldn’t do it. I lowered by saber, told him if he were truly of the light, he could prove it by letting me keep the SIP, but that if he had turned, he might as well kill me. I wouldn’t let him have the SIP any other way.”

_ Don’t listen _ , something whispered in Thryn’s heart.  _ Just don’t. _

Secura paused, such terrible misery hanging in the Force around her. “It was like it wasn’t even Korto, but it  _ was.  _ So deeply him, that part of him that has always been there, lurking beneath the surface. He moved in to kill me. He was willing to strike me down in cold blood,  _ my Finder. _ ”

A ragged breath escaped Thryn as she felt echoes of Lisk’s own terror, so very similar, impossible to  _ fake _ .

“Bly managed to pull himself together enough to take a shot at Korto. He sensed it coming, but couldn’t move in time. It hit him in the shoulder. Wounded, and against two, he knew he couldn’t win. He fled to his ship and took off. I was unable to stop him, but I wonder if I tried hard enough. Nothing felt real.”

Thryn could understand  _ that. _

“Our cruiser saw him take off, and flew gunships in to try to see if they could see why our comms had failed. They picked us up.”

Thryn’s hands eased their grip on her knees, and she wondered, vaguely, why she had no tears of her own. “The SIP is in the Council’s hands?”  
“Yes.”

“Could it have been a ruse? Could he have waited for Bly to attack so he would have a good excuse to leave without his objective?”

Secura stood up, the agitation too much to remain sitting. “Padawan Sein, I have thought about it from every angle possible. I know you care for him, but if you want my opinion, as someone who has known him since I was a toddler, he’s  _ changed.  _ The casual way he explained that he’d lied to me, betrayed me, used my bond to him... and the fury in his eyes and sense when he threatened to kill me to get what he wanted? He’s changed, and yet he’s still after the Second Sith. But what  _ good  _ will it be if he kills that Sith only to take his place?”

Thryn stared at the woman who had every reason to believe in Korto Vos just as strongly as Thryn herself, and realized something was different about it, this time. She’d said he’d turned inward before, allowed the darkness to overcome him.

_ You didn’t give up on him then. _

Something about him was different now. So different, it had driven the hope from Secura’s eyes.

“I have duties,” Secura murmured as she strode away, unable to bear it any longer.

Thryn sprang up, seized with a similarly intense need to flee as well.

She raced for her waterfall, needing the soul-silence it could bring.

She couldn’t _think_ about this right now, she needed a buffer. A moment to recover, before trying to plunge her hand back into that fire.

She sprang from the bank and nearly crashed into someone already beneath the fall.

Thryn flailed backwards, and a furry hand caught her arm just in time to keep her from falling in.

She gripped the fur in return, steadying herself, and caught sight of a form that dwarfed her, covered in dull-white fur, and the massive tusks of a Whiphid.

_ Oh. _

Force, no.

“Padawan?” he called over the roar of water.

“Master K’kruhk.”

Thryn fled.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Thryn had no sooner reached the bank than the Whiphid landed beside her. “Am I needed?” he asked.

“No.” Thryn couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

He peered more closely at her, and something in the Force around him quivered. “Why do I alarm you?”

Thryn’s gaze caught on the signs left over from a terrible wounding.

Shaved fur so the Healers could access the damage. Pale pink tissue, tenuously bound together.

“I wanted to speak to you of Korto Vos. But I don’t.”

Not anymore.

She couldn’t bear it.

_ Might he—? _

Her soul was tired of fighting against the evidence.

It was tired of weeping, too.

“I see. You have no questions?”

_ Why would this man have more insight than Korto’s own padawan, a woman he was bonded to since he was a teenager and she was tiny? _

“I’m sorry.”

“You were surprised to find me there. You may return to the waterfall; I am not supposed to be up and about much longer. The Healers will have my head.”

He was trying to not appear frightening.

Thryn might have felt sorry for him and tried to reassure him that she didn’t find his size, claws, and teeth to be alarming, but there was too much turmoil within her to reach out even that much.

He gave a nod. “May you find what you seek, Padawan Sein.”  
Thryn couldn’t watch him leave.

She couldn’t quite return to the waterfall either.

Her gaze swept what little of the Room of a Thousand Fountains that she could see from here. A massive meadow, into some of the trees...

It was nearly empty, except for two figures, locked in deep conversation, moving in her direction, walking slowly.

Feemor and Obi-Wan.

Much as she craved her master’s presence at the moment, she didn’t want to interrupt something that looked important.

Thryn moved over to one of the trees, lowering herself to sit on the grass with her back to the trunk.

_ What do I think? _ She couldn’t decide.  _ What can I do? _

If he wouldn’t listen to  _ his Aayla,  _ would he  _ really  _ listen to Thryn?

_ Doubtful. _

But in the end, did it matter, so long as she  _ tried _ ?

Thryn turned her head to watch her master and his “younger line-brother,” as Feemor referred to Obi-Wan, wanting something to distract her from the endless churning in her mind.

Feemor was the taller of the two, but of similar build, and obviously older. His hair was long, while Obi-Wan, for the moment, had nothing but fuzz. Feemor was clean-shaven, and Obi-Wan would eventually have his beard and mustache back, most likely. Feemor’s robes, since he was in-Temple, were completely traditional, while Obi-Wan’s were modified and he wore touches of clone armor. Their personalities and teaching styles were different.

_ And they fight differently too.  _ Obi-Wan, considered to be  _ the  _ master of Soresu, and Feemor favoring a blend of Ataru and Makashi with heavy elements of Tov Noga.

Thryn zeroed in on their Force-signatures, knowing neither would consider it an invasion of privacy.

_ They are willing to help me learn, even when it’s inconvenient.  _ Or meant she might be aware of something that wasn’t quite as excellent as any of them would have preferred.

_ You swore you would teach me how to respond to mistakes, Master. My own, and others’. _

Was her refusal to believe that Korto Vos  _ could  _ make such a terrible mistake all tied up in that personal struggle of hers?

The Force-signatures of the two adults were different, as had been their experiences through life, and yet there were multiple points of tiny, almost unnoticeable similarity.

_ Raised by the same master. _

Feemor looked up and caught her eye. He didn’t smile, nod, and glance away, and they were still headed in roughly her direction, so he wanted to speak with her, but he hadn’t beckoned or called to her, so he felt it alright for her to wait until they reached her.

_ A discussion he doesn’t necessarily want me involved in yet. _

An instinct, left over from her time with Master Cahl, urged her to go over all of her most recent actions, to try to find out if there was anything that might deserve a reprimand—

_ No,  _ she quieted herself.  _ They do not chide me for small things. And I would know if I had transgressed in a large way. _

She took a deep breath and waited.

They reached her, their voices having fallen silent before crossing hearing-threshold, but they didn’t sit down.

“Thryn, you spoke with Master Secura?” Feemor asked.

She gave a mute nod.

They remained standing, looking down at her.

“And?” Feemor prompted, when it became apparent she didn’t know what to say.

Thryn shook her head. “I— might have upset her?”

“Not that. Did she confirm your faith in Korto?”

“I—” Thryn’s gaze flicked to the silent, grim Kenobi, then back to her master.  _ He made me promise to believe in him, no matter  _ what  _ I heard. Which means he knew I would be hearing things difficult to believe through.  _ “I just  _ know _ he wouldn’t.”

The words sounded hollow.

_ What if it wasn’t premeditated, but a spur-of-the-moment bad choice? He’s not infallible. _

Wasn’t that the whole point of Tonnal’s words? You couldn’t worship a sentient, because they were just as capable of messing up as you?

“Masters Tholme and Secura  _ knew  _ too. I know Tholme thinks otherwise now. Does Secura?” Feemor was trying to be gentle, but Thryn could easily read his concern too.

_ And if Master Vos truly has betrayed the Republic, and I still have confidence in him... he would be right to be concerned. It would be a hazard. Especially since Korto probably counts on me trusting in him. _

And now she knew why they needed to talk to her.

_ Master Secura nearly lost her mission and her life because of her desire to trust him when she knew she shouldn’t. _

They were concerned Thryn might do something similar, in spite of Aayla’s experience.

And Thryn had nothing solid she could say about that.

They were probably right.

And yet...

“Master Kenobi,” she said, voice quiet, “ _ please.  _ You have to believe in him.”  _ He was part of your youngling clan. _

“Why?” he asked, blue eyes unmoved. “ _ Dooku,  _ an upstanding and well-respected master fell. What in the galaxy would keep Korto, who is neither of those things, from Falling? He intended to kill Aayla.”

Yes.

He did.

And Secura still hadn’t recovered from the shock of having sensed that intent.

Thryn stared up at the two apprentices of Qui-Gon Jinn, and found she could not answer.

She couldn’t deny the charge.

Feemor crouched down to sit on his heels. “Thryn, I don’t really know Korto Vos. All I know is what I’ve heard him say, seen him do, and have heard from others’ firsthand accounts. You know he’s always been without Balance.”

“I can’t discredit or disprove or disbelieve any of the things that have happened.” Thryn set her jaw, knowing she needed to express this last part, to herself as much as to him. “And my mind says  _ don’t trust him. _ ” All of her training with Feemor certainly took issue with her continued, blind faith in Korto Vos. “But he’s trying to catch the Second Sith. He’s... obsessed with it. Master Secura said as much. Perhaps that’s what has dragged him so far.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Killing one Sith won’t do us any good if he becomes another.”

_ You sound like Secura.  _ “I’m just saying that he may think that everything he’s done is justified by his goal.”  _ Oh, Master Tonnal. _

“Murder in cold blood is never justified, Padawan,” Feemor murmured.

Thryn found her fingers abusing her knees again. “I know. And I think he knows that too.”  _ Maybe he did do this, and didn’t think it through. _

But would murder from impulsive selfishness really be better than murder from meticulous, thought-out selfishness?

It was still slaughtering a corrupt old woman who had no way of fighting back.

“Thryn,” Feemor began, voice cautious but firm, “he’s careful, he’s sneaky, he’s fast, and he knows how to shield himself almost completely even from very skilled Jedi. He can walk past them and they don’t even know someone went by. You  _ know:  _ you’ve been trying to learn it. And he appears to care about you. And, whether he’s loyal to the Republic or not, he appears to have lost his sense of right and wrong. Can you see why we would be concerned with your apparent  _ need  _ to have implicit faith in him?”  
“Yes, Master Feemor.”  _ If it were Lisk believing in Tolor despite everything that’s  _

_happened... I would be very concerned for Lisk’s safety._

Feemor paused, as if his next question might take something out of him, and perhaps out of Thryn too. When at last he spoke, he met Thryn’s gaze with a gentle, unchallenging directness. “If he met with you and pleaded with you to smuggle him into the Temple, would you agree? Especially if he reaffirmed his promise to never betray you or Turn, and brought your care for him to the forefront the way he did with Secura? If he insisted he was nearly ready to apprehend the Second Sith, and that secrecy was vital to the success of the mission, would you keep such a thing secret?”  
Thryn squeezed her eyes shut.

_ Oh... no. Please not this question. _

“We need to know where your loyalties lie, Thryn,” Obi-Wan said quietly. Thryn could sense his compassion and ache for her distress. “The Council has commanded that he turn himself in, and that if any Jedi see him they are to try to apprehend him if they can do so without unnecessary bloodshed. For now, until other proof is brought forward, the Council is looking at him as a threat to the Republic.”

Thryn’s eyes flew open. “In this case the Council is wrong.”  _ But is it really? _

“Thryn,” Feemor murmured, sounding pained, “I can feel the uncertainty in your voice and sense. You aren’t  _ confident  _ they’re wrong, even though you  _ want  _ it to be true. Uncertainty is what is dangerous, here.”

“Would you defy the Council on his behalf?” Obi-Wan asked. “We have to know.”

Thryn stared at the grass.

This question. The one she’d been trying to avoid. The one that gnawed at her insides.

_ “No matter what you hear, what others believe. I’m not going to do that to you.” _

He had been so insistent. Persistent.

_ Do I trust him? _

_Master Vos defied the Council on my behalf..._

_But that’s because he was absolutely sure the path was the right one. That I wasn’t a threat._

_ I am  _ not  _ absolutely certain about him. _

_And if I’m not absolutely certain it’s right..._

Thryn felt immobilized. Could she  _ make  _ a decision when she couldn’t see the right path?  _ What if I choose wrongly? _

Neither master moved, neither hurried her.

Thryn felt her palms go slick, felt that awful lack of surety that she just couldn’t  _ stand. _

_ You aren’t going to figure out which is the right path now. Not until some time has passed, and more has come to light. Are you loyal to Master Vos over the path that appears to be right? When you don’t know what’s right, will you side with Master Vos, or the Order? The Council? Obi-Wan? Your Master? _

Something within her seemed to crack.  _ Oh, why are you making me decide this? _

Korto Vos had been her only hope back when she saw nothing but the tiny flicker of a possibility of light at the end of the tunnel. He had represented that possibility, then worked so hard to make it come to pass.

Standing by her when everyone else saw her as a threat.

And yet...

To deny what her instincts told her, to deny evidence— that’s not what she’d been raised to do.

“I... don’t know.” Her voice wasn’t steady. It sounded tear-streaked, though her eyes ached with the dry lack of ability to cry. “I’m afraid, Masters, that I am emotionally compromised in this.” She looked first to Feemor’s kind expression, then up at Obi-Wan. “I don’t think you can rely on me here. If put in a situation where I had to choose, I honestly do not know which way I would go, and I am not sure what is right. You have every right and need, tactically, to know that. My emotions very well may be clouding things, and it’s possible—”  _ Yes. Yes, it is possible. I seem unwilling to face the idea of his fallibility,  _ “it’s possible that I’m facing an attachment.”

Two sets of blue eyes continued to study her.

And then Obi-Wan bowed his head slightly in recognition, and— something that surprised Thryn— respect. “Thank you for being fully honest. I have a request for you. It is not a command, but I deeply desire you to comply. Please do not leave the Temple, take a call from outside, or go near any access points— doors, windows, and the like— until we have spoken of this again.”

Thryn met Obi-Wan’s gaze evenly. “I will honor and comply with that request, Master, as though it were a command.”

And then the blue eyes softened. The legacy-brothers exchanged a glance, and Obi-Wan gave Thryn what could almost be described as a smile. “Thank you, Thryn. I know I can trust you. I will go speak with Masters Yoda and Windu, and see if we can come up with something.”

He turned and strode away.

Thryn looked after him, feeling like a failure.

_ I should only be willing to defy the Council if it is the  _ right  _ thing to do. _ Oh, Force, was she letting Master Feemor down again? She’d promised she never would, that she would be  _ safe  _ for the younglings, someone reliable and worthy of trust—

Feemor moved to sit beside her, and Thryn sensed something strangely warm inside him.

“Well done, Thryn,” he murmured.

The tears that hadn’t been able to fall before burned her eyes. “Master, I just said you can’t rely on me either way in this— rely on the fact that I  _ would  _ defy the Council, or that I  _ wouldn’t _ . I’ve just said I’m a loose cannon. That possibly my care for Master Vos has edged into the unhealthy place where facts no longer matter to me. How does  _ well done  _ factor into that?”

“You are facing your own condition,” Feemor explained. “You didn’t bluff. You didn’t lie. You honestly and accurately assessed your motives, thoughts, and possible actions, and you expressed them with courtesy and boldness. You were more concerned about giving us what we needed to keep our people safe, than about protecting your image. The fact that you admitted that you might not be seeing clearly— that in itself is impressive. Humility, and squarely facing our limitations— these are the signs of a true Jedi.”

Thryn looked over at him, feeling troubled.

He wasn’t done. “I know many padawans who would have been insulted by Obi-Wan’s request.  _ You don’t trust me? After everything, you treat me like this?  _ They would have responded with indignation, if not anger. And even many padawans who wouldn’t respond so verbally would have been sullen. I don’t sense any of that in you, Thryn.”

“If I am a hazard, it is his duty to alert the Council to that, and for them to decide what to do about it. And if that means confining me to my room until Master Vos has been... either apprehended or his name cleared, that would be perfectly reasonable, tactically. I’m a wild card, and in this war, we can’t afford that. It could cost lives.”

Feemor smiled. “But can’t you see? You’ve just made yourself  _ no longer a wild card.  _ Because now we know your limitations, and we can make sure we don’t push you past them. You’re afraid of being a threat, but by being honest about it, you’ve given us the ability to make sure you  _ aren’t  _ one.” Feemor’s arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her against his side.

Thryn willingly went, leaning her head against his shoulder. A little of the disappointment in herself eased, but for some reason, her eyes still swam with tears.

“Now, Mace Windu might not be impressed,” Feemor chuckled, “he rarely is with anything. But I know that Obi-Wan  _ was  _ impressed, and he wanted you to know it. To know that he trusts you.”

“In spite of the fact that I just told him he shouldn’t?”  
“ _ Because  _ of that.”  
Thryn shook her head. “There are times when I simply  _ do not  _ get how the minds of Jedi Masters work.”

“Mm. Don’t let that mystery distract you from one very important fact: you’ve learned the lesson I needed to teach you.”

Thryn frowned. “Which one?”  
“How to respond to your own weaknesses.”

_ What?  _ One of the tears slipped down her cheek. “Do you really think so?” she quavered.

“You’re facing them head-on and being honest about them to yourself and others.”

“And about others’ failings? That was the other thing you swore to Yoda you’d teach me.”

He leaned his head against the top of hers. “You’ve already come a long way, but there is still work to be done.”

_ Yes. While I am not self-righteously angry at Korto... I am trying to find excuses. Somehow avoid placing responsibility on his shoulders for his own actions, simply because I care about him. _

Those excuses would not serve Thryn, and they would not serve Korto, either.

If he had done something terrible, she needed not to pamper him in it, justify him, but be there, ready to help if he recognized it was time to make restitution for the suffering he’d caused.

Be ready to help if he ever came home.

And, oh,  _ Force,  _ did she want him to come home.

A sob hitched her shoulders, then pulled her down into tears that physically  _ hurt.  _ Not her eyes, but her throat. Her stomach ached, and she leaned forward, out of Feemor’s half-hug, curling over her knees and grieving.

Feemor sat beside her, hand gently rubbing her back, a warm presence she desperately needed against the pain of the present.

 

* * *

 

Lisk blew out a gust of air, feeling exhausted.

The master teaching him to detect dark influences— those that could drive a mind to acts not entirely of their own will— took a step back, fingers rubbing her forehead.

“Alright, let’s take a little break,” she murmured, sounding winded.

_ My mind and heart are too unsettled. I can’t find enough quiet to hear such a minute whispered difference. _

It was like trying to use wildly shaking hands to adjust tiny gears and belts in a chrono.

_ More damage than its worth. _

Kewari had been needed with a patient, so Lisk had the room to himself while his instructor stepped out to pace in the hallway and shake out some of the tension.

_ I need some of Thryn’s calm right now. _

It was easier to slam a door over his agitation than to face it, to truly work through it so he could find a quiet peace on the other side.

_But this is something I need to learn. To keep myself safe, to keep Thryn safe, to use to discover how much of Tolor is Tolor._ _To ensure I will know it if he tries to manipulate me or any of the people I care about._

Lisk adjusted his posture in the chair to ensure he wouldn’t fall out of it, placed his hands on his knees, and let his eyelids drift shut.

_ To accomplish this, I need to find a harmony with myself. _

That required understanding what was going on within and accepting it for what it was.

_ No more stuffing. _

Meditation was frightening and required commitment. You didn’t get anything out of it if you only half-cared, half-focused.

_ What is in me, right now? _

Lisk drew a long breath in, then let it out, slow and soft. He directed his gaze inwards, and waited to see what would surface first.

Fear.

Not surprising. He felt jumpy whenever alone. In fact, being alone in this room with his eyes closed wasn’t at all easy.

That kind of battle-readiness would wear you out in the long-haul.  _ It’s why non-traditional warfare against a standing army works so well. _

He had Thryn and Feemor to thank for that information.

_ To best protect myself and my loved ones, I cannot let the fear dictate my actions. I need to let strategy do that. _

_ To counter my fear, I prepare myself to face the thing I fear. _

It was there. Oh, he felt it.

_ You will not control me. _

Without attacking it, he simply let it live, and returned to reaching out.

Confusion.

That one was nothing new.

He felt something intensely romantic for Thryn, but that was not what she was looking for right now. Not what she needed. She needed someone to watch her back without making her second-guess her every expression and word. Especially with the trauma they both faced.

_ I feel something she does not, and now is not the time. _

He believed that. He held no doubt that his instincts were correct in this.

_ I see you. You are there. _

He made no attempt to banish that sensation or to condemn it.

He accepted it, and allowed the next thing to drift into his awareness.

Betrayal.

Oh, Force, did it  _ hurt,  _ and it stirred anger. He could see the anger stemming from it, knew how one thing led to the other.

_ It feels like when Tolor broke that woman’s neck, he thought of me and decided I wasn’t worth protecting. _

Which, when he put it that way, made it sound a bit unlikely.

_ He probably didn’t think of me at all in that moment. _

Which hurt in its own way.

Thing was, pain alone wasn’t an evil thing. There were moments when there was simply too  _ much  _ of it, when the mind shorted out from the weight, and Thryn’s gift was ensuring that weight did not crush a person’s soul when they could not fight back.

But pain... wasn’t  _ bad,  _ in and of itself.

It was part of living. At some point or other, all beings faced it.

To be angry against it was similar to thinking that you should be exempt from something all of sentientdom experienced.

A sense of entitlement.

Feemor had faced it. Kewari. Thryn.

_ And this pain is mine. _

Different from theirs.

He didn’t like the way it coiled around his fingers, stung and burned at once, and occasionally cut. It was a cruel thing, and he resented Tolor for so thoughtlessly inflicting it.

_ I feel all of that. _

_But to protect myself and others..._

_It cannot dictate my actions either._

_I need to learn this skill._

Lisk allowed his eyes to open once more.

He felt that collection of  _ things  _ still, but in the place where there had been chaos, he found a harmony.

He understood them, where they came from, what they would drive him to if he did not assert control over his own destiny.

_ There is no chaos; there is harmony. _

A statement now true in this moment for Lisk, because when it had been incongruent, he had taken steps to make it whole.

_ I am Jedi. _

The woman stepped back into the room, a smile on her face. “Shall we try again?”

And Lisk gave her a firm nod in reply.

“Yes.”

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

Thryn sat back against the tree, tears drying on her cheeks.

Feemor hadn’t left, simply watching the jewel-winged insects flit in the sunlight in silence.

The numbness that bitter weeping imparted was settling over Thryn, leaving everything feeling disconnected and weary.

“I don’t think you quite realize how close to knighthood you are,” Feemor spoke up at last, voice thoughtful.

_ What? _ Thryn sent him a quick glance, but he was staring off into the distance. “Not that close.”

“Oh, I still have survival skills I can teach you, but there comes a point when in order to best continue your learning, you have to step out and take control of it yourself.”

“A Jedi is always learning?”

“Exactly. And I look forward to when we’re both knights of the Order. Equals.”

The statement startled Thryn almost clean out of her heavy fog.  _ Equals?  _ Since Qui-Gon Jinn had died, she hadn’t had a chance to watch Feemor or Obi-Wan interact with him.

But Obi-Wan and Skywalker worked side-by-side these days. Peers.

The relationship had changed.

“Will we become peers?” Thryn asked, a little bewildered by the notion.

Feemor chuckled. “That is the goal.”

“But you will always be my master.”

“I always felt Qui-Gon was my master, even after I was knighted. He was a father to me, to use the galaxy’s terms, but after my braid was cut, he saw us as brothers.”

“You’re like my father.”

Something wistful passed across his Force-signature, but Thryn couldn’t quite understand what it was. “I hope for many long years together, Thryn. As Master and Padawan, then as Knights. Perhaps even someday working alongside you and  _ your  _ Padawan.”

A huff escaped Thryn, something of a laugh. It upset the tentative balance within her nose, however, so she stood up, hand flying up to cover it. “I really need to blow my nose. I’m sorry, Master— I’ll see you later.”  
“Sure. You already know the  _ as-long-as  _ list, so I don’t need to repeat it.”

She gave a hasty nod and sprang away.

 

* * *

 

Feemor watched Thryn race away, something uncomfortable hovering somewhere between his throat and rib cage.

Qui-Gon Jinn had once admitted to him that when he tried to see the future, he could see that Obi-Wan would become a great Jedi Knight.

He had been right.

But Qui-Gon had also confided that he had been unable to see himself, working with Obi-Wan.

It had deeply disturbed the man. Thrown doubts and a shadow across his path.

He had wanted to watch Obi-Wan’s rise, and be by his side.

He had believed Obi-Wan would eclipse him.

Obi-Wan, though on the Council and loved by the Order, would say it hadn’t, and couldn’t happen.

But Qui-Gon had been right.

_ He didn’t see himself because he wasn’t there. _

Qui-Gon had experienced another vision, one he almost hadn’t shared with his former padawan, and Feemor could never tell if Qui-Gon regretted admitting it to him or not.

He’d seen an old, wounded man. White-haired, living alone in a desert. Desolate, having lost everything.

He wasn’t wearing Jedi robes, and there’d been no sign of a lightsaber.

And the pain and grief the man held within... was enough to blot out a star.

At first Qui-Gon had thought the man was himself.

Then he realized it was Obi-Wan.

If the first vision had thrown a shadow over Qui-Gon’s path, this one was far worse. It had given him a dread of the distant future. If Obi-Wan had to live with what Qui-Gon experienced losing Tahl...

But even  _ more... _ ?

Feemor had once thought that perhaps his younger legacy-brother would choose Satine over the Order, and  _ that  _ might be how the vision would become possible.

He had also thought that perhaps events had changed, and that future was no longer a possibility.

But Feemor had a sinking, terrible feeling in his gut... that Qui-Gon had been right about that too.

Though if Obi-Wan  _ didn’t _ leave the Order on Satine’s behalf...

Then for him to be left like that...

The Order would have to leave  _ him. _

How was that possible?

A stellar Jedi, such a bright light,  _ wouldn’t _ be cast from the Order. There would be no reason to.

And Obi-Wan had left the Order once. If he didn’t go with Satine, then  _ nothing  _ would induce him to leave a second time.

The darkness Feemor sensed gathering was only growing deeper. Something terrible had been set in motion, and he felt powerless to stop it.

He had no idea what it could be.

Yoda could no longer clearly see the future. His visions had become uncertain. Cloudy. Mace Windu was growing more tense and concerned and wary by the day. The shatterpoints were too confusing for him to discern.

Skywalker was the key, but no one as yet knew how.

Feemor had, while sitting beside Thryn, briefly reached to the future, imagining himself and his knight.

The image had felt hollow. A figment.

And when he tried to alter it, it faded away entirely.

Did he dare try to see more? If he couldn’t see them... or saw something terrible...

Would it haunt him? Would he be always tense, waiting for it?

Was it better not to know? To simply enjoy every moment he had with his padawan, make the most of every opportunity to serve the galaxy and protect the Republic and bring justice and mercy and peace...

And let the future fall as it would?

Feemor stared at the grass without seeing it.

Instead, he saw Qui-Gon’s face. Obi-Wan’s. Thryn’s.

His family. And yes— Skywalker too.

Feemor considered for a few more moments... then stood up.

_ No.  _ He would not let the present be overshadowed by possible future calamity.

That way, if he survived whatever was coming, he would have glad, unshadowed memories.

He wouldn’t face the future as Qui-Gon had.

But he  _ would  _ hold life and everything else with an open hand, and he would consider anything possible, until proven wrong.

Once the war was over, the Jedi could return to their tasks of heart. Helping bring planets to a place of enough. Of peace. Of justice and mercy.

_ If only we could capture or kill Dooku and Grievous... _

Then there was that Sith master Korto swore by.

_ Dooku could be the Sith master, and Ventress be his apprentice. _ Dooku could have trained Maul.

And didn’t  _ that  _ thought hurt. 

The Council had debated whether this second Sith existed or not— Obi-Wan had admitted to that. Windu and Yoda both believed that they  _ did  _ exist, and was Dooku’s master.

They had to find him and uncover him. Whatever it took.

Unbidden, the face of Korto Vos sprang to his mind’s eye.

He had a grim feeling they would be learning far too much about Korto’s views all too soon.

That brought back Obi-Wan’s request to Thryn.

It tugged a wry smile from Feemor’s lips.

_ He knows she could evade a watch put over her, get past any attempts to block her access. _ So instead, he’d simply asked.

And Feemor’s incredible padawan had agreed.

_ Master, I wish you could have met her. I cannot begin to express how much I respect her. _

 

* * *

 

Thryn was talking with Lisk when the summons from Obi-Wan came in.

They exchanged one tense glance, Lisk murmuring, “Good luck,” as Thryn turned to hurry down the hallway to the meditation room specified.

_ I can do this. _

Given the formality of the request, this  _ had  _ to be the Council’s reaction to Thryn’s assessment of herself.

_ If it’s not in the Council chamber to be recorded, though, that means it’s not an official reprimand. _

_ Either that’s a good thing, or a _ really bad  _ thing. _

But... which?

Thryn’s path intersected Feemor’s at the open door of the meeting place. He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her shoulder as they stepped inside and let the door slide shut.

Obi-Wan stood waiting, a pensive expression on his face, one hand stroking his beard while the other braced his elbow. His gaze lifted and his hands fell to his sides. “Thryn, the Council has decided.”

_ Deep breath, Thryn. _

“It’s informal. Not really a command so much as a request that you continue to follow the guidelines I laid out, either until we have had conclusive contact with Korto, or until somehow the situation changes.”

_ They backed your play. _

Thryn made a correct, slight bow. “I will continue to obey, Master.”

Obi-Wan gave her a wan smile.

“It does not apply to Master Feemor, though, right? He can still be helping?”  _ We need all hands on deck. _ The war was taking a toll on everyone, whether they actively fought in it or not.

“True. And the Council does have a mission in mind,” Obi-Wan admitted.

Even though Thryn had hoped for a positive response, it still stung a bit. Her master, going without her.

She nodded with as much bravery as she could muster.

A quick check in the Force told her Feemor disliked the idea of going without her, but he wasn’t going to say so in front of her. And since he was needed, he probably wouldn’t say so at all.

_On the other hand, the Council is giving me the time I need to try to unravel the confusing snarl of what I think,_ while  _knowing that what I_ _ ’m doing is right. _

That alone took a huge load off her mind.

She squared her shoulders. “Master Kenobi, I have one thing I’d like to request of you.”

“What do you have in mind?” he asked, sounding just a bit wary.

Thryn met it with quiet conviction. “If you see Korto... just think about what I’ve said.”

“I can promise you to think about it, but nothing more,” Obi-Wan warned.

Thryn gave him a nod. “That’s enough.”

“Then you have my word.”

 

* * *

 

_Obi-Wan Kenobi worked his way through the seemingly empty bioship._

_So far, no sign of what had happened to its occupants..._

_This task reminded him of the days before the war, when this sort of mission was far more common._

_Pirates?_

_Probably._

_But still, it was important to check. Just in case._

_A disturbance in the Force caught his attention, along with the clanking sound of droids of some kind and the hum..._

_Of a lightsaber._

_He crept forward cautiously, shielding himself in the Force to keep his presence hidden until he had a better understanding of the situation._

_Soon he was able to see a red glow._

_Red lightsaber. Sith or Fallen Jedi._

_And then he was close enough to see the figure._

_Korto Vos._

_Surprised shock slammed through Obi-Wan, and he was glad his shields were up._

_Otherwise, Vos would definitely have sensed that, even around his intense focus._

_Red lightsaber, a crystal wounded and weeping with the pain that had been forced upon it._

_And whispers of the Dark Side spoke around Vos himself._

_Obi-Wan had promised Thryn he would remember. And he did._

_But what to do was another question entirely._

_Vos was obviously fighting for his life, and it was looking like he wouldn't make it if something didn't change, and soon._

_It made the most sense to wait until he was injured before intervening— thereby ensuring that Obi-Wan would not only defeat the droids, but also be able to take Vos prisoner before he escaped in the chaos caused by battle._

_Then again, depending on how many droids were still up when Vos went down..._

_It might be better to just completely stay out of it. Vos_ might _win. And if he died, since he was an enemy, it wouldn_ _’_ _t be..._

_Thryn_ _ ’ _ _s face rose up before his mind_ _ ’ _ _s eye._

_Obi-Wan studied Vos a moment more, and then made up his mind._

_He leaped and ignited his lightsaber at the same time._

_“_ Kenobi?! _” Korto yelped as Obi-Wan landed beside him and slashed an electrocution droid in two._

_“You_ _ ’ _ _re no more surprised to see me than I am to see you. But for right now, I have only one question: Whose side are you on?”_

_“You_ _ ’ _ _re kidding, right? The Jedi_ _ ’ _ _s— the Republic_ _ ’s _ _! There_ _ ’ _ _s never been a question!”_

_“_ Really _?” Obi-Wan returned. “There_ has _been_ some _question about that, given your latest activities.” Not to mention what Vos must have done to that crystal to make it weep bloody tears._

_“Look, I_ _ ’ _ _ll explain everything if we get out of this alive. And if we don_ _ ’ _ _t— well, it won_ _ ’ _ _t matter, will it?”_

_“Agreed.”_

_Though, of course..._

_Korto’s wounded crystal might have disagreed._

 

* * *

 

“When do you have to leave?” Thryn asked, leaping to catch some of the items nearly slipping from Feemor’s full arms as he Force-nudged the door closed.

He made it to the table in the center of the workroom, and spilled everything on top of it. “Soon. We’re waiting for a specific piece of intel. I’ll need to have comm silence for the insertion, but I won’t be leaving the planet, and any time before or after the actual strike, you’ll be able to contact me if you need to.”

“And... this?” Thryn pawed through the pile, noting thin plastics, some wires, a couple datapads, several tools—

Feemor chuckled. “Even if you’re Temple-bound, you don’t have to be bored. I’m going to teach you how to make fake IDs. So. Here’s a real one, and here’s one I made.”

Thryn accepted them both.

The first looked fairly standard for non-classified personnel.

_ Relf Toyl.  _ In his sixties, restrictions on piloting due to health reasons— unspecified— with graying hair and sad lines around the eyes.

“Does Toyl know you borrowed his ident for a class?” Thryn asked, quirking an eyebrow at her master.

He sent her a mock-frown. “I borrowed it  _ with  _ his knowledge—  _ and  _ consent— my padawan of little faith. He’s a friend to Jedi. Now— look at the fake.”

Thryn obeyed. This one had clearly been made to use, not for demonstrating, and it had Feemor’s image embedded along with a false name and information. She held them up against the table’s work light, squinting, trying to see a difference.

She weighed them, tapped them against the tabletop, then gave up.

“Would have fooled me,” she admitted.

Feemor huffed a chuckle. “That’s a very good thing. If someone with limited knowledge on the matter could spot it, I’d be in  _ big  _ trouble. Now. While there are individuals who create entire false IDs for a price, the authorities usually know who the good ones are, even if they can’t prove it. They like to keep an eye on such places. The safer way to go is to get the base—” he tapped the plastic— “and fill in all the details yourself. There are people who simply make these bases, and because they are used in small-run robotics, there’s too many manufacturers to receive the attention required for small purchases to be noted.”

Thryn fished out a blank card from the table. It only took the application of her fingernail to open it to reveal handy little slots to put something in.

“Looks like it's tiny electronics work instead of slicing,” Thryn observed, surprised.

Feemor winced. “Slicing is not my thing.”

“I know, dataspikes only for you,” Thryn chuckled.

“Look who’s talking,” Feemor ribbed back. “First we’re going to take your image, then we’re going to delve into which pieces to wire together.”

Thryn eyed the tiny electronic components and shrugged.  _ We’ll see if I can learn this, then. _

Her first two tries they finished, and then destroyed, neither good enough to pass even a cursory inspection. The third one was much better— only a law-enforcement individual... or criminal... would be able to notice the flaws. Thryn tore that one apart again, both rueful and determined.

_ I can do this. _

“So... Thryn. When you think about where you want to be in sixty years, what do you think of?”  
Thryn glanced up, puzzled. “When I’m  _ seventy-eight? _ ”

“Yes.”

A laugh escaped her as she admitted, “I’ve never actually  _ had  _ that thought before, Master.”

“So envision yourself. Right now. Thryn Sein just had her seventy-eighth birthday: what does her day look like the morning after the party?”

Thryn set down the connector she still held.  _ This is going somewhere.  _ “I don’t know. It would depend on how mobile I still am, or any injuries I might have accumulated by that time.”

A shadow seemed to pass over his face at that last statement, but Thryn wasn’t sure why.

“Do you want to be an extraction specialist until the day you can no longer physically do so, or until the day you’re taken out by a stray blaster bolt, whichever comes first?”  
“I...” Something felt  _ very  _ odd in the Force, and it made Thryn a bit uncomfortable. “I don’t necessarily see dying in battle as so terrible a death,” she hedged.

She’d mentioned this view of the world in the past, and no one had ever really seemed comfortable with it. She’d observed that a large part of the universe put a high value on dying in their sleep, at a rather old age— but not  _ so  _ old that their every waking moment was miserable.

Thryn could not fathom why that would be an attractive option.

Feemor fiddled with the half-filled base card in his hand. “I think if you continued on the path of being the person who goes in alone, takes out all the opposition, and gets the target out of there, that you would become very good at what you do. And if you decided you wanted to become an officer in the military, a Jedi General, I think you would excel at that. Both of those are very... violent careers, and I know you thrive in it.”

Fear spilled down Thryn’s spine.  _ Here we go?  _ Except—  _ No, no. He’s not like Master Cahl. You know him, Thryn. He’s stood by you, never once hinted he’d walk away from you. _

“It’s just... you and I, when we look to your immediate future, we expect something  _ like  _ that. Training you in combat and stealth until you can possibly, if they’re still around at that time, become an asset in a strike-force meant to take down the Sith. We’ve always just assumed your near future would be violent. And because it  _ is,  _ you are... healthy.”

_ Oh, Force, please— _

But Thryn didn’t know what she was pleading for.

“What if you could feel that belonging in your blood,  _ and  _ have any job in the universe? What would you pick?”

For a long moment Thryn simply stared at him, until his own gaze locking with hers felt uncomfortable and her eyes burned with the need to blink. She looked away, brow furrowing, closing her eyelids for a long moment to soothe the sting. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

“What  _ have  _ you thought about?”

“I’ve always assumed I would go where the Order needed me most.” Thryn shrugged, feeling just a bit helpless, and stared down at her empty hands. “I thought I would work as hard as I could, fight in as restrained a way as I could manage, and then I would die—” she stole a swift glance at him, but he didn’t look ready to shut down, so she finished her childhood assumptions. “In the field, trying to save people. Doing my job. Being a Jedi.” Proving she had a choice in her own destiny.

Feemor’s gaze softened. “You’ve never even thought about retirement? You just assumed you would die young?”

“Master... if I’m good at what I do, and I  _ like  _ doing it, it stands to reason I should  _ do  _ it. And you can only engage in battle for so long before it finally catches up to you. One day it’s your opponent in the fire, the next, it’s you.” Thryn shrugged. “The thought doesn’t make me unhappy, if that’s what you’re worried about?”  
Feemor considered his words for a moment, then explained, “It’s not. But you and I assumed trajectories for your path, and I’m not sure you’ve ever really sat down and thought about what you  _ want  _ in your life.”

“To help as many people as I can. To be loyal to the Order, to prove myself a Jedi.”  _ To make my Masters proud. _

And maybe, somewhere in there, stop  _ disliking  _ herself so much. That had certainly eased over the last two years, but Thryn didn’t really  _ like  _ herself, or her gift.

Taria had believed she could not soothe souls without also feeding the way she did, and because of that, Thryn believed it too. And the adults in her life who invested in her success thought that more beautiful side of the gift to be valuable, so it was easy to assign a positive value to it.

So she  _ was  _ in a better place than before... but she still didn’t enjoy who she was as a person.

“So when your Clan Mother told you to close your eyes and think of what you wanted to be when you grew up, you answered...?”  
Thryn grimaced, both amused and embarrassed. “I said I didn’t think I’d be grown up all the way. I always assumed I’d die around the age of eighteen, fighting for something I believed in.”

It hadn’t been a very popular answer at the time. It may have resulted in some concerned mind professionals wanting to make sure Thryn was alright.

Feemor looked shocked.

_ Uh-oh. _

“I’ve already lived longer than I was planning for,” Thryn cleared up, in case he was confused.

Fingers came up to rub down the side of his chin, as if searching for non-existent stubble. “You... ah... really weren’t a dreamer, were you?” Feemor asked, trying to sound wry. Instead, he sounded just a bit rattled.

“Oh, but I  _ was. _ ” Thryn smiled. “I enjoyed being alone, which, looking back on now, I think the others knew. I didn’t know how to ask for being alone without being  _ lonely. _ I wanted connections with others, but I also valued my thinking time to myself. The others probably just thought I didn’t want to have anything to do with them.”

Distance plus loving backup had given Thryn a chance to have another look at her past and experiences. Not everything looked the same from here as it had back then.

“So... tell me, then. What you  _ did  _ dream about.” Feemor stepped away from the table to sit on the floor with his back to the wall.

Thryn wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that— he clearly was settling in, so if she wanted to speak at length she  _ could. _ It was an invitation, but—

_ Do I take it? _

She’d learned long ago that what happened in her mind was rarely received with anything other than worried looks and new appointments with mind professionals.

“Well... when you think of the pinnacle of your life, the high point, just off the top of your head, what do you think of?” Thryn asked.

Feemor considered it, then shrugged. “Seeing you knighted will be a pretty significant day for me. The day you knight  _ your  _ padawan, I think, should you have one. I like the idea of being old, no longer on the mission roster, just... relaxing and enjoying my hobbies, with my legacy gathering around to visit me with laughter and food. You?”

“A blood-soaked battlefield, lit by a glorious sunset. Turning, knowing this is it, taking one last action to save whoever the people are that I’m saving, and then passing into the arms of the Force as I take out more of the enemy than one, so it’s not an exchange, but a  _ cost. _ ” It felt frightening to admit her cherished daydreams of old. “Maybe back-to-back with someone I trust and care for. Maybe it’s not such a scenic place, but in a lower-level alley with flickering lights and a sewer stench. But I’m there, I  _ know,  _ I’m fighting my heart out and selling my life dear, for something I believe in.”

Thryn felt the special song in her heart again, full-throated and fiercely joyful.

 

* * *

 

_ Force grant me wisdom. _

Feemor breathed through the shiver that wanted to wrack his form.

“This is how you would write the story if you could? Or is it a premonition?”

Thryn sighed, as if the question were one she was  _ very  _ familiar with. “It’s not a vision, or precognition. You asked what I daydreamed of as a youngling, thinking of my future. This is it.” Her expression turned wistful, as she stared at the table top. “I know it’s not normal.”

“Padawan, if I had wanted average, I would have looked elsewhere for an apprentice. These people you’re saving, would they be people you know?”

A fond smile softened Thryn’s face. “No. They would be strangers. Maybe some of them don’t like me or approve of me, maybe some of them do. In that moment, none of it matters, because I’m giving them a chance to  _ live. _ ”

_ You daydreamed of dying for people who fear you? _

“And now?” he asked, his voice sounding small in his own ears. “What do you dream of now?”

Thryn smiled. “Things much more short-term. The day when you pilot a ship to chase mine through the levels and I actually succeed in giving you the slip. The day when I am skilled enough with my shielding to be available for whatever the Council needs of me most. Things like that. Since the time zone of my prior ideas has passed, I haven’t really had the time to come up with a new one. I’ve been focused on excelling.”

“Alright, Thryn. I’ll be gone for a week or more: while I’m gone, I want you to craft five different IDs for yourself as practice, and I want you to think about what you want from life, if you could have  _ anything. _ There might be a way for you to hear your heart song  _ and  _ live a life without the standard definition of violence.”

Thryn was looking at him with  _ very  _ puzzled eyes now.

“Just... we’ll talk more when I get back, alright?”

Thryn nodded.

As he stood to go, her  _ very  _ quiet words made him pause.

“It doesn’t repulse you? Childhood me?”

He retraced his steps to brush a hand over the top of her head and bringing it to rest over her ear, his thumb on her cheek. “No, Thryn. It’s a beautiful dream, in its own way. Rather like some of those epics of old. And I don’t believe you are the only kindhearted, light-filled soul to have such wishes. I don’t believe you’re alone.”

Liquid obscured Thryn’s eyes, sudden and clear.

“I believe in you, Thryn. We’ll find a way for you to be whole  _ and  _ live the life you want.”

It took her a long moment before she managed a nod and a tear-garbled, “Thank you, Master.”

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

 

Four days into Feemor’s absence, and five into Thryn’s grounding, she felt like she’d just about run out of things to do.

In Lisk’s spare time they trained against droids, Lisk grilling her on theory and practice Feemor had taught her, memorizing as much of it as he could through sheer force of will.

She finished up her false IDs, scrubbed her room from top to bottom, returned the couple gadgets she’d forgotten to give back to the Outfitters, took that one last test for the one class left to finish.

Thryn wasn’t entirely sure how to go about Feemor’s  _ actual  _ directive, however. She knew how to train, how to learn, and how to fight, but just how  _ did  _ a person discover  _ life  _ goals?

Perhaps her hobby was important to discovering it? Except she’d put more time into her maps than she’d given to them in years, and cartography didn’t seem to be opening up any  _ ah-ha  _ moments for her.

Thryn stood in the center of her spotless room in dismay. Her gaze snapped over and caught on a drawing stuck to the wall.

A traffic sign featuring a little pink human with a crooked smile and yellow hair.

_ If I can’t figure it out, perhaps I should enlist the help of dreammakers. _

 

* * *

 

Clan Squall’s Mother caught sight of Thryn as the padawan approached the open door of the clan’s common room. “Guess who’s here?”

In response to their Clan Mother’s tease, six children spilled out the door and danced to meet Thryn.

Mataia’s wide blue eyes found Thryn’s. “Why are you here, Padawan Sign?”

“Actually, I’m in need of some help.”

“From  _ us _ ?” Riemur asked. Nearly eight years old, he was the oldest of the clan, and of Chalactan heritage.

Thryn smiled. “Yeah. From you.” She allowed herself to be led into their play area, and be somewhat awkwardly enthroned on a small chair. “I want to know what each of you want to do and be when you’re Jedi Knights.”

Ulusi, the ringleader, looked confused. “Why is that helping?”  
“Because I need to figure out what I want to do and be.”

Six kids stared at her in open-mouthed shock.

“You  _ don’t _ know,” Ulusi clarified.

Thryn spread her hands and shrugged. “Did I come to the right place?”  
“Oh,  _ yes. _ ” An aura of adulthood fluffed up around Ulusi, and she perched onto another chair, looking sober and businesslike.

Thryn forced herself not to smile. Adorable was  _ not  _ what Ulusi was going for.

“First of all, you decide what kind of person you want to be. A kind person, or a mean person?”

_ Oh? _ “I want to be kind.”

“Do you want to have lots of friends or be mysterious?”

And to Thryn’s utter bewilderment— and delight, let’s be real— six little kiddos’ postures changed to try to loom tall, hunching their heads forward, and hands undulating before their faces.

_ What is this? _ Thryn wondered, unable to help her grin. “Is this mysterious?” she asked.

Ulusi crossed one leg over the other with all the intentional grace of an adult. “Very mysterious. Mysterious Jedi come out of nowhere to save the handsome boy and when he asks  _ ‘You saved me! Who are you?’  _ they say  _ ‘I am the mist. I am Jedi,’  _ and disappear into the fog.”

“That sounds very exciting,” Thryn replied, tone as grave as the Pantoran’s. “Is there anything I should be wary about? Because being mysterious sounds pretty good.”

Riemur scrunched his nose. “Mysterious is fun, but it gets kind of boring. If you talk, then you stop being mysterious, so you have to just watch people.”

“Yes,” Ulusi agreed. “I would advise you have lots of friends, Padawan Sein, but I  _ personally  _ want to have at least two mysterious friends.”

Thryn made a considering face. “I’m thinking you’re probably right, but if I turn out to be mysterious, I’ll let you know so you’d only have to look for one new mysterious friend.”

“That would be good,” Ulusi confirmed, dead serious. “So now you know who you want to be.”

And the last of the amusement went away for Thryn.  _ Because I actually  _ do  _ need help.  _ “Kind, and not mysterious. But there are a lot of Kind, Not Mysterious people who are very different from each other.”

“True.” Ulusi looked stumped, her blue fingers tapping at her knee.

Fortunately, Riemur wasn’t. “You just have to think up opposites and pick which ones you like. You could be a knight who eats lots of cookies, or a knight who only eats vegetables.”

“Sure. I could be a knight who goes out and fights badguys, or...” Thryn led.

“Read books!”

“Grow flowers!”

“Mothers a clan!”

“Bakes cakes!”

“Meditates and invents new math alor— almor— allergithims—”

“Teach soldiers!”

_ That  _ last _ ,  _ from the five-year-old, and had all of them staring at Mataia in shock.

 

* * *

 

Lisk headed into the Healer break room, in need of water. With his master in the room just over, he didn’t feel the need to drag her after him, in spite of this area being currently without people.

There, on the counter, sat a holodisc with a card on it that merely said  _ For Lisk. _

Maybe his Dark Influences teacher.

_ I should probably give her my comm frequency.  _ He reached to trigger the cached message, when he realized a call was live, simply muted and audio-only.

_ Not  _ the case for what the person on the other end was seeing and hearing.

Lisk used the Force to close the door, and then disarmed both the mute and audio lock.

Tolor became visible on the counter, a tiny version of himself.

“How long have you been waiting?” Lisk asked, heart thundering.

The man smiled, the expression soft and just a bit wistful. “Longer than you know. I know you’re angry, Lisk.”

“That’s one word for it. I think I prefer the word  _ betrayed,  _ though.”

“Because I didn’t tell you before. I understand. And you know, I think you probably could have handled knowing the truth long before I was ready to say anything, but by then I couldn’t get near you—”

“No, betrayed because you forced me to know. And I don’t  _ want  _ to belong to you in  _ any  _ way.”

Tolor paused for a long moment, looking just a little bewildered. “You didn’t want to know who your family is?”

“See, that’s the thing.” Lisk shook his head. “I  _ do  _ know who my family is. The Clan Mother who looked out for me and experienced my moodswings  _ after you left. _ Who held me when I cried, and tried to help me make sense out of a life you completely turned upside-down and shook. And my family is my Master, who could have decided to just  _ do  _ something to protect me from you, but instead  _ asked me  _ what I wanted to do. Because she sees me as the adult I am now. She didn’t stuff a decision down my throat, and she doesn’t—”

Tolor’s hands came up as if to fend off the words. “I may have gone about this all wrong.”

“Yeah? Scaring the  _ kark  _ out of me and making me scared to walk around my  _ own damn home  _ was a  _ great  _ way to prove your good intentions!”

Tolor’s hands fell to his desk, then folded together. “Okay, then. I left a location listed in the message recorded on the disc you’re using right now. I won’t invade your space anymore. If you want to talk, you can go there.”

“ _ Why  _ would I want to talk?” Lisk growled. “When it’s  _ finally  _ convenient for you?”

“You have a mother.”

Lisk felt his throat go cold.  _ Yes,  _ he wanted to say,  _ I have two,  _ but he couldn’t make his mouth work.

“See,  _ I did  _ kill that woman. In cold blood. I won’t deny that. And yes. I was leaking Jedi information to Black Sun. But your mother? She didn’t do anything wrong.”

Still, Lisk couldn’t speak.

“We were trying to get her out of the gang, Lisk. Maybe your underworld-savvy girlfriend has told you this, but it’s not a  _ simple thing,  _ getting free of Black Sun. It might not even be possible. Force knows your mother and I have been fighting to break her free for years. Even before you were born.”

_ Oh, here, Lisk. Those women that you love, that have invested in you and helped you survive My abandonment, those women you just claimed as family? Never fear, I have your  _ actual  _ mother. You should be happy as I dismiss the people who love you, because I Am Back Now. Oh, and she’s in distress. _

Lisk couldn’t seem to manage to put any of his inner commentary into words.

But...

_ Oh.  _

He wasn’t the helpless little kid Tolor had left behind anymore.

So he closed his eyes, breathed—

_ Come on, work this time. Please. _

“Are you alright, Lisk?”

“I don’t know. Are you ready to tell me what you want?” Lisk asked in return, picturing Thryn in his mind. He could hear her voice whispering the code, a gentle eye of the storm. Someone who knew how to find her center when all hell broke loose around and inside her.

_ “There is no emotion, there is only peace.” _

He could hear his heart beating, each breath as it drew in, eased out.

The emotions were there, but he needed to take the position of an observer so he could find calm to scan Tolor’s Force signature.

_ “There is no ignorance, there is only knowledge.” _

He could revel in his shaking hands, his turmoil of negative thoughts, or he could seek to know if Tolor was acting under his own volition.

_ “There is no passion, there is only serenity.” _

He felt so many urges to  _ hurt  _ Tolor. To find some way, physical or verbal, to make him  _ understand,  _ dammit, how much he’d hurt Lisk. Because he still couldn’t see it, apparently. Still completely oblivious to what he’d done—

Or didn’t care.

But only a still, sure finger could pull the trigger and hit the target.

Another breath, and Thryn’s voice again from his memory.

_ “There is no chaos, there is only harmony.” _

And as his heart beat slowed, as his mind cleared, as the Force gathered around him and coiled, Lisk was ready to meet it, attuned to be able to wield it with the precision of a Healer.

He didn’t know how long that mind-Force calibration would hold, so he seized his moment of utter calm and  _ used  _ it.

 

* * *

 

Riemur wanted to fight wildfires once he was a knight. Thryn could remember a couple of clanmates from her own time in the Youngling Wing that had desired the same... for a while.

Tooka cat wrangler, veterinarian for the Temple’s impressive collection of creatures— the service animals, the sensitive-nosed creatures that patrolled the science laboratories to ensure no leaks threatened anyone, the endangered species being studied to try to be brought back to strength...

The Temple’s trash gatherer?

Someone who puts up wanted posters?

Mataia wanted to draw pictures forever— perhaps she could draw the posters Thryn would hang up.

Thryn’s posture must have betrayed her, because Ulusi put a stop to the speculations with an imperious wave of her hand. “ _ Guys.  _ Padawan Sein, I think you need to just sit down somewhere really quiet and make a list of every job you can think of, and then cross out all the ones you don’t care for.”

Thryn thanked them for their help and departed, not  _ really  _ sure if she wanted to take that bit of advice.

After all...

Being a Hitter like Feemor was hardly something she  _ didn’t _ want to do.

_ I’ll be good at it.  _ And... yes. Feeling that hum of belonging. She knew Feemor was trying to encourage her to think  _ beyond  _ that whisper in her blood...

She just couldn’t really think of anything that made her  _ excited. _ Not even the prospect of life as an extraction specialist. It was amenable, it fit her skills...

_ Oh. _

That’s what Feemor wanted her to locate.

An excitement.

_ We’re tooled. _

 

* * *

 

Well, on the bright side, Lisk now knew  _ for sure  _ that Tolor had been one hundred percent himself when he murdered Feemor’s love, and also right this minute. There was no evidence in his mind of being manipulated via the Force.

_ Though _ , Lisk thought, his inner voice near hysterical,  _ it also means he is the murderer I always suspected.  _ So how was that the  _ bright  _ side?  
Then again, compared to the panic attack that was flaring up all around him to box him in, it certainty was probably the only bright side he was going to  _ get. _

Tolor had said what he wanted from Lisk.

Lisk shoved his fingers into his hair, dragging in a deep breath, but his mastery of self for the hour had been used up like a measure of flour and he had no reserves left.

“You’re  _ crazy, _ ” he stuttered. “I’m not  _ leaving with you! _ ”

“That was always the plan,” Tolor countered, looking as if this were the most  _ normal  _ thing in the world, to walk in and  _ expect him  _ to just pack up his life and  _ go. _

With a murderer. Who’d stalked him.

“We needed you safe and hidden from Black Sun, so we placed you with the Order, but it was never our intention for you to  _ actually  _ turn out as a Jedi. We were going to pull you out before then, and have a home.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, for you to make decisions like that about!” Lisk shuddered, feeling his shields slipping.

His master was worried, on her way.

“At least consider meeting your mother. You have the location of where she’ll be. She hasn’t seen you since you were tiny, Lisk. Please at least see her, put an end to that suffering.”

And then he was gone.

And how  _ dare  _ he—

Kewari burst into the room and crossed to him. “Easy,” she crooned, seeing in an instant what was wrong. “Breathe with me, Lisk. That’s it.”

It took so much effort to breathe at  _ all _ . It  _ hurt. _

How in all of frip’s name could  _ Tolor  _ act like  _ Lisk  _ was the one who’d done something wrong? For, oh,  _ responding with loyalty  _ to the people who’d been  _ loyal to him? _

“I don’t— I don’t give— a  _ kark  _ about— his  _ blood test! _ ” Lisk spat, though he cringed, knowing it wasn’t true. If it were true, he wouldn’t be in pieces here, wracked with distress.

Kewari didn’t ask him any of the questions that he was currently incapable of answering, or launch to anger.

Instead, she simply helped him find his way back from the clutches of his own mind.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

 

_ I have an attachment. _

Thryn sighed, not particularly excited about her conclusion.

_ Facts and truth are irrelevant to me, because my will has decided Korto Vos can do no wrong. Is infallible.  _

Textbook attachment.

_ Okay. First: truth matters. Personal growth cannot happen if excuses are continually made. _

_ Korto Vos has betrayed his personal code of ethics by murdering in cold blood. He confessed to that; there is visual confirmation, we know he  _ did  _ do that, whatever his motivations. _

Thryn triggered the  _ do not disturb  _ light by her door, added the lock just because, and sank to sit cross-legged on her sleep mat.

_ I believe that choice he made was wrong. And unless his personal code of ethics changed dramatically—  _ before  _ he did it— he does too. _

And while there were differing opinions on just what could be permissible when, and not all Jedi agreed on varying points of their personal ethics...

_ No matter where you draw your lines, doing violence against your conscience is a severe problem. The sort of problem that a simple shift in belief system does  _ not _ pose. _

Not only did it damage a part of who you were, it also violated the trust between a Jedi and the kyber crystal that entrusted itself to them. A trust almost as old as the Order itself.

_ Korto’s crystal sang to him in the caves, chose him and bonded with him, on the understanding that he would do no violence against his own person, or against the crystal now trusting him to protect it. _

Thryn sighed, but didn’t look away.

_ In order to take care of my own internal health, and if I have any hope of being a trustworthy friend of his, I have to take my attachment and make it something more healthy. _

_So to complete that first step: Korto Vos fripped up._

Thryn didn’t like the taste of it.

_ Master has been teaching me how to face such fallibility like a Jedi. _

Fury wouldn’t be of help. Nor self-righteous disgust. Nor excuses on Korto’s behalf.

_ What will? _

Well, if he  _ had  _ Fallen, part of her loyalty  _ to  _ him would be...

_ Protecting his family  _ from  _ him, if need be. Because before he lost his inner self, he would have wanted us safe. _

_ And part of being loyal to myself is listening to my instincts.  _

She’d been listening to her attachment, instead of her gut, her kyber crystal, and the Force.

_ I’ve spent years collecting wisdom, and Feemor has been teaching me hard-earned street-smarts. If I don’t put any trust in it, what’s the point in having any of it? And I won’t find it by thinking really hard, but by getting my mental churning out of the way and letting what I’ve learned do its job. _

Thryn focused on her breathing, the way one rib ached from sparring with Lisk, and how her lower back still felt knotted up from the same cause. The soft, clean smell of her room, kept just exactly as Thryn liked it best.

She kept house in her mind, clearing out some space to work in.

_ Okay. _

Now.

_ Should I trust Korto Vos? _

The answer that came welling up from within was a not-so-simple:  _ Not implicitly. _

_ And... what does  _ that  _ mean? _

Thryn didn’t have much time to seek more clarity, since in this still, clear place she sensed the object of her thoughts  _ here,  _ in the Temple.

_ Oh... kriff! _

Thryn seized her comlink and signaled Obi-Wan.  _ Come on, come on, answer— _

“Thryn?”  
“Korto’s in the Temple.”

“Yes, Thryn. He’s with me. Thank you. We’re heading for the Council now. I’ll let you know when we’re done. Stay put for now.” The little click at the end signaled Obi-Wan was gone.  
Thryn sagged over sideways to curl up on her bed, eyes wide.

_ Oh, Force. What’s happening now? _

 

* * *

 

Thryn’s waiting had morphed into scrolling through her maps and making guesses as to which of the gang turf-lines in her stomping grounds would have changed, and by how much, by the time her confinement to the Temple was over. She marked each of her guesses and cataloged why, knowing Feemor would be pleased by her initiative.

It seemed forever before the soft knock at her door had her flying to open it.

Obi-Wan stood on the other side. “May I come in?”  
“Certainly.” Thryn stepped out of the way.

The Master spared just a glance at the maps as the door closed behind him, and then turned to Thryn. Weariness hung about him in the Force, but he wore a soft smile. “Your time of confinement is over, and so is your time of having to stay away from Korto Vos.”

Thryn’s heart bounded, something that hurt so much it took a moment to gather breath to speak.

“He  _ hasn’t _ Fallen?” 

“He has come close. Very close, and crossed over several times.” Obi-Wan’s face sobered. “He is to remain here at the Temple for some time, spending most of that time investing in some much-needed maintenance for his mind and Force presence. He will be watched, of course, but he is still our brother. I think he would appreciate seeing you. He’s experiencing quite a bit of guilt, so I think some reassurance of solidarity is in order.”

Thryn gnawed her lip. She’d felt so eager a minute ago, but....

_ I fought so long, so hard to not be perceived as a threat, to not  _ be  _ a threat. He goes under for a short time and just... I don’t know how I feel about it, yet. Still. _ “Did he explain what happened? And why?”  
“Yes, but I think it would be much better if you heard it directly from him .” Obi-Wan studied her, eyes keen. “If you can bear it.”

Thryn closed her eyes. “He fought so hard to prove I wasn’t just going to lose it and start killing people. Fought to convince me of it too.”

“...and he was the one, instead?” Obi-Wan finished, guessing her turmoil. “I am sorry, Thryn.”

Thryn’s throat closed up, but she worked her way through it. “I just don’t know, yet.”

“Speaking to him and getting answers might help. He was heading for the Room of a Thousand Fountains, but he might be difficult to locate. He is keenly aware of how close he came to Falling completely, and it might take much courage to face you. It was not easy to see his face when he learned from the Council that you never lost faith in him... and that in some quarters, that faith put you back into a distrusted place.”

Thryn forced her eyes open again, met the compassion in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I don’t suppose you could come with me?”

“Yoda has requested my presence to review some message the Temple has received.” A shadow touched his face, and he ran his hand over the stubble on the top of his head. Both beard and hair had quite a ways to go before they recovered from the undercover mission.

“Something bad?”

“Oh? I don’t know,” Obi-Wan dismissed.

_ But you feel something.  _

He saw the set to her jaw, knew she was bracing for something awful. “No, Thryn. It’s the past, not the future. Thirteen years ago today, Qui-Gon died. Some years are more difficult than others. I know you would like to help, but I have to go.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and offered her a sad smile. “Be brave, little one. Korto came back with me willingly. That in itself is a victory. And I wouldn’t have approached him the way I did, except you made me give you that promise. It was the right call, Thryn. It may have brought him home.”

“Okay.” Thryn managed a nod, and something almost a smile, watching him speed away to try to minimize Yoda’s wait time.

_ Well, I could stay here and agonize over whether I want to see Korto or not, and keep thinking about it until it becomes near impossible, or I can just seize fate by the teeth and direct my own life. _

Thryn squared her shoulders, and set out.

 

* * *

 

Korto Vos made no attempt to hide from Thryn, but he didn’t come to meet her, either. He didn’t hide his presence...

But he seemed reluctant to be found, at the same time.

Thyrn found him standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, staring down into the depths of a large, white flower. He’d found himself the farthest, most inaccessible corner of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and it looked like he had no intention of budging. The padawan didn’t know what species the flower was, but its purity had obviously captured Korto’s attention.

And everything about him, from his posture to his expression to his Force presence, spoke of dejection. Failure. Pain. Guilt.

Thryn’s guts knotted up as she approached. She reached his side without speaking, and, since words seemed hopelessly out of reach, peered into the flower as well.

It possessed a golden center.

“Reminds me of what a Jedi should be,” Korto murmured. “Reminds me of Kenobi. He saved my life out there. He didn’t know whether I would try to kill him or not, but he saved me, more than once, and then put his reputation on the line by giving his word for me that I wouldn’t try to run... or harm anyone. And then he stood with me before the Council and pleaded for me. It’s the only reason I’m here instead of in a restraining field.”

A sigh welled up out of him as he admitted, “I don’t deserve any of that at his hands.”

Thryn looked up at his face, what she could see of it that wasn’t concealed or shadowed by his mane of black dreadlocks.

Still, she couldn’t find words. Korto didn’t look at her as he continued.

“He asked that I be given a chance to prove myself, but I don’t know what there is to prove.” At last he turned to Thryn, but kept his gaze averted. “I was so convinced I could do it.”

And at last she had words. Not many, but... “Do what?”

“Find the second Sith. I was sure it was Senator Viento.”

Thryn’s brow furrowed. “If he  _ had  _ been the Sith Master, you wouldn’t have been able to kill him in is sleep, would you? He would have sensed you coming?”

“Probably.” Korto’s gaze lifted to meet hers. “I most likely would have died, but in the process, he would have revealed himself for who he was. Once revealed, the rest of you would know who to fight.”

Thryn found the names  _ K’kruhk _ and  _ Aayla  _ to sit bitter on her tongue, like an awful herb, but she wasn’t sure she could speak either of them without her composure going to kark and leaving her standing there trembling and maybe on the brink of tears.

Kotro’s eyes shifted away, perhaps reading her silent questions. “For the rest, I have very little excuse.” He turned away, but Thryn wasn’t about to just let it go at that. She moved to stand by his elbow again. Still silent.

“On Kiffu I... I just lost it. I couldn’t hold back the anger anymore. She  _ fed  _ my parents to the Anzati. So that she could gain custody of  _ me,  _ a  _ little kid,  _ so she could use my Force strength for her own ends. When I was little, she made sure I got my hands on a piece of armor my mother wore. My psychometry made me  _ feel  _ their deaths.”

Korto’s own composure began to unravel. “It’s one thing to  _ see  _ someone you love die, another to sense their pain and loss, but psychometry feels as if the memory is  _ yours,  _ as if it’s happening to  _ you  _ in the moment, and the  _ terror _ my mother felt, and the anguish at seeing her mate’s brains sucked out of his nose—?” He shuddered.

Thryn, still a bit hesitant, lowered her shields. With Korto setting low priority on protecting other minds’ privacy, that was all it took for her to be able to feel how deep that pain ran. To catch glimpses of how brutally it had shaped his childhood, even with the Jedi fighting to help him survive and heal.

“I’m not going to pretend killing Tinte had _anything_ to do with trying to do what needed to be done. I _believed_ Viento to be the Sith. Tinte, I just couldn’t _stand,_ once she _confessed._ ”

Korto seemed to be burning with pain, fury, and the whispers of corrosion that had been at work in him while he gave way to his hate. It looked like acid had been gnawing on his Force presence.

His violence against Tinte had been  _ once. _

But the damage his choice to do so had inflicted on himself? Continued on.

“As for K’kruhk? I was angry when I left Viento’s corpse. I realized I’d been had. The information I thought I’d gained had been false, maybe even laid out for me like bait. That moment, when I realized I’d murdered an  _ innocent man— _ ” Korto’s swallow sounded like it hurt. “I felt... I felt so defiled. Like I belonged to the dark side. K’kruhk was determined to keep me from escaping, and though I had no intention of killing him, and I should have maneuvered my way out of his reach, the way I had when Agen came after me on Shaddaa... I couldn’t stand the thought of  _ being in there,  _ one more moment. Every time I touched something I felt Viento’s  _ not Sith  _ life, and so I wounded K’kruhk so I could get out of there faster. Then, on Honoghr...  _ Aayla... _ ”

And then he broke.

Korto sank to the grass, bowed his head, and tears slipped down his face. He made no attempt to conceal them from Thryn.

It touched her. She knew he would have tried to hide them from someone else. Feeling unspeakably tired, Thryn sat down beside him.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Korto admitted through the brine. “It was like I lost control of myself. I was so set on finding the Sith Master, of making my mistakes  _ matter,  _ everything escalated so quickly. But  _ Aayla. _ ”

And now Thryn saw the real reason why the Council hadn’t chained Korto Vos into a cell. This depth of horror, how sick he felt inside at the thought of what he’d almost done to his former padawan, couldn’t be faked.

At the same time, she couldn’t bring herself to offer any comfort. Not a hand on his shoulder, not a hug, not tears of her own, not a pressure of her own Force signature against his.

The pain he felt in this moment was all that stood between him and the abyss that sucked in hurt people and made them killers.

Korto swiped his hand down over his eyes, blinked hard, and shook himself. “I hear you had a rough time of it.” His voice wasn’t quite steady.

“You know how much it took for you to convince me I wouldn’t escalate into a killer? To escape that crippling fear of myself?”

Korto’s eyelids pressed shut. Thryn could sense his shame, but he needed to  _ know.  _ To  _ remember. _

“I wasn’t as terrified of myself anymore, but it still  _ rattles  _ me, you know? To see Jedi Masters make mistakes, because if even  _ they  _ frip up  _ big,  _ what hope do  _ I  _ have? And you didn’t just frip up, you dove into the escalation, the way killers are  _ made,  _ and I? I have... extra things working against me. And I just don’t want to  _ be that person! _ ”

Korto’s eyes flew open in shock, and he stared at her.

Thryn could feel the hammering of her pulse, the way her hands began to shake—

Oh,  _ Force  _ she wished Feemor was here, and was so  _ thankful  _ Obi-Wan was not.

He was too jaded, and while he believed in Taria, he didn’t  _ have  _ enough hope to buoy himself and Thryn too.

But Feemor? Feemor had endless faith.  _ And nothing he learns of me has dimmed it. _

“Thryn, you’re not like me,” Korto swore.

“Yeah?” She threw him a half-angry, half tear-obscured glare. “It wasn’t a  _ person  _ who killed Taria, so I have no focus for such a rage, but what if someone  _ had  _ killed my master in a cruel way just to make a point? Tinte’s what, your cousin?”

“My mother’s cousin.”

“A family member killed your parents. A Jedi didn’t kill my Taria, so I didn’t have that kind of focus. You’ve spent  _ so much effort  _ trying to convince me that I won’t just go berserk with bloodlust that  _ you know I have.  _ You don’t even  _ have that  _ and you—”

Thryn gave up. She couldn’t seem to find  _ words  _ for the yawning doubt trying to eat her alive.

Or the hurt.

“I... believed in you,” she rasped.

Had held trust in his innocence until the very last minute.

She couldn’t see at all now. “You told me not to lose faith in you. And I didn’t.”

And then the tears threatening to overwhelm her were gone, leaving burning eyes and an aching throat.

Warm hands seized Thryn’s cold ones. “Don’t try to tell me.  _ Show  _ me.”

Thryn didn’t know if it would even be possible, but she had to do  _ something  _ with how betrayed and hurt and  _ fripping scared  _ she felt.

_ Psychometry. _

So she unhooked her lightsaber and placed it in his hands.

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

 

Korto Vos, battle-bitter spy and faltering knight of the Order, couldn’t quite breathe.

Thryn’s lightsaber had borne witness to so much  _ pain. _ Not all of it was Thryn’s, Korto caught glimpses of other things that had happened around it, impacting its owner, but...

Most of it was Thryn’s.

He could sense Thryn watching his Force signature, and he made a snap decision to lower his shields to her.

_ I’m supposed to reconnect with my center, and I can _ feel  _ how much she cares about that. _

Maybe he would regret it later, when he wasn’t inundated with Thryn’s recent memories, but...

_ To hell with it. _

 

* * *

 

Thryn experienced some surprise. Korto Vos had never allowed her  _ in  _ before.

She hesitated a moment, then decided to see.

She wanted to  _ understand...  _ and maybe find some hope. For herself, or for him, she wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

Whispers grew louder until Thryn could hear them clearly, see the impressions left in the Force by actions and choices.

Korto had been so confident when he’d taken leave of Thryn, requesting  _ the  _ promise. He’d known he would have to pretend to be trustworthy from a Separatist point of view.

His non-Jedi, underworld persona was one he knew how to wield, and though he knew he needed to press farther, deeper than he ever had, he thought he could do it. He’d known it would look bad,  _ very  _ bad, perhaps, but the Council had agreed to his mission plan.

And he  _ had  _ managed.

Until Kiffu.

Korto hadn’t realized  _ that  _ particular door lived inside himself until he’d opened it, coming face-to-face with a dragon... but the dragon was himself.

Thryn felt Korto’s dread, his fear that he’d become what he’d been pretending. It was a thought that gnawed at him, burning his bones. That deep fear of himself, what he could do, what he could become—

Of who he already  _ was _ .

The last of Thryn’s anger dissipated completely. She still felt grim, wasn’t sure she was ready to forgive him, but...

She  _ knew  _ this fear.

It was a terrible thing to have shadow your footsteps, to snap at your ankles and whisper in your ear. A thing no one should have to experience.

Thryn hated to see it in another.

The fear swept past, still echoing, leaving its low, steady pulse, but a new strain wove into the Force’s song.

The deep horror left over from Korto’s encounter with Aayla, from the murder of Viento... and from the draw the power he’d tapped into held for him. The darkness whispered, and Korto’s soul strained to make out the words, to edge closer to try to see what lurked in the shadows...

Understanding lit up Thryn’s mind like a searchbeam. She could  _ see  _ the darkness gathering to lay in wait to claim Korto, she heard the bewildering whispers, saw the flickers of movement from an unknown source.

But they didn’t rouse her curiosity, didn’t suck her in.

She didn’t...  _ want  _ to experience its touch.

But Korto  _ did.  _ He had for a long, long time. He’d managed to dance just outside its reach, but he’d danced just a little too close, this time, and it had grabbed him, and it wasn’t just the darkness that was reluctant to allow him to leave, but his own nature itself.

_ Oh. _

So while, no, Korto Vos did not have the weight slowing him down that Thryn had exactly, that hunger for another being’s pain and fear—

He had  _ another  _ craving. One that threatened his future just as much as Thryn’s own.

_ His fear of himself comes from another source, but is just as intense. _

It hadn’t been, before. He had assumed victory, until—

The Force pulled her in farther, deeper, threw her into a place where she saw a force-field, a captured Republic agent. A test of loyalty, an initiation hazing—

_ Oh— _

A Jedi. Thryn didn’t know the woman, but she could feel Korto did.  _ Shylar.  _ He had loved her, and it had been fully returned. Memories from their time as padawans swirled through, just a little dizzying in the flickering forward and back of time, but Thryn could see how the experiences linked.

Teenage Korto had chosen to give up the relationship, had pulled back. He had feared his own impulsive nature, hadn’t been ready to try to love without attachment, so he ran away entirely.

But a part of him had always loved her.

That part had wept as he watched CIS Intelligence torture an already-dying woman for information, and, when they got nothing, told the rookie to end her. They needed the cell for someone else.

_ Oh, Force— _

Thryn couldn’t quite breathe, wasn’t sure if it was her own lungs or Korto’s that had locked up.

Shylar cursed him as she died, a knife slipping in to silence the mortal wounds she’d already received. An act that could have been read as mercy, could have been read as necessary—

But she thought him a traitor, and her blood covered his hand.

She hadn’t given away his cover, though.

_ This is what started it,  _ Thryn realized.  _ This  _ had twisted him, left him wondering if he  _ had  _ done right, if he should have blown his cover and tried to get her  _ out,  _ even knowing they would never make it to the door, and even if they did, that she would be unable to recover from the torture she’d already undergone.

He’d hastened that end to save himself. To save the opportunity to hunt the Sith Master.

_ No wonder when you faced proof— however false— of Viento’s Sith identity, you moved in for the kill. _

He’d been eased into the depths.

The blood of a woman inches from death, the blood of the murderer of his parents, the blood of a Sith—

The blood of an innocent.

Looking back, Korto had found himself horrified by how far he’d descended so  _ fast _ , the light so very far behind—

_ You chose an impossible mission, and it very nearly broke you. _

Thryn felt Obi-Wan’s presence, saw Korto’s shock when Obi-Wan challenged him. The moment when Korto actually  _ looked  _ at where he was, and... where he was going.

_ You came home. _

Thryn found herself back in her own mind with a shudder. None of the pain she had been training to ease had been of  _ this  _ sort. Thryn didn’t think she’d actually eased any of Korto’s torment, and she wasn’t sure she should have, even if she’d been able to do more than simply outlast the current.

The Council was right. Korto Vos needed time to heal, time to explore his mind and find out what had been growing unnoticed there. Time to recover from coming so near the brink that he’d nearly gone mad.

He recognized it as well.

Korto returned her lightsaber into her hand. “Do you hate me?”

“No,” Thryn began, “I—”

Something cringed through the Force, something twisting and scraping, alarming like rending metal.

Its epicenter? Obi-Wan.

“Oh—  _ oh _ ,” Thryn choked, looking to Korto, aghast.

He didn’t seem hit quite as hard, but from the shock and worry on his face, he had felt at least some of it.

_ He said Yoda wanted to show him a transmission _ —

She scrambled to her feet, hesitated, looked back down at Korto—

“ _ Go, _ ” he urged.

Thryn ran.

 

* * *

 

Thryn found Yoda alone in the communications room, the ancient one leaning on his gimer stick and aimed for the door, as if waiting for her.

“What is it? What happened?”

Yoda heaved a sigh. “Trouble.” He pushed a button, and a large hologram filled the room with a blue glow. “The Sith, Darth Maul, lives.”

_ Maul?  _ Thryn’s brain short-circuited.  _ No. _ He’d been too monstrously wounded for—

_ The face matches.  _ It fit Obi-Wan’s memories of Qui-Gon’s death.  _ And... metal legs... _

Thryn froze up as Maul’s saber swept through the necks of helpless townspeople. Their terror, their pain, their deaths—

_Oh—_

Yoda was watching her, closely.

In that moment, Thryn realized something.

_ There is no song in my blood right now. _ She and Feemor had... experienced some uncomfortable action holoflicks early on. Thryn couldn’t help her hunger and feeding reaction to both the hero’s and the villain’s on-screen suffering. Torture and battle sequences, and worst of all, scenes where one of the characters  _ died,  _ had left Thryn feeling exposed and uncomfortable, since Feemor clearly could sense her reaction.

It’s why Thryn had always avoided watching holos with other people.

Those carefully-acted dramas always resulted in her feeding, even on the suffering of innocent characters. It... wasn’t an easy thing to see in herself.

_ But those holos are not real. They are fantasy.  _ Feemor had said it at the time, but it hadn’t brought much comfort. Not until now.

_ Those holovids are fantasy, but  _ this  _ is real. Real people. Real innocents. _

_And... I didn’t thrill to it._

A relief washed through her, and though Thryn understood  _ relief  _ might be the least appropriate of responses just now, she couldn’t help it.

Yoda’s head made a slight nod, and Thryn realized he’d recognized it too. Might have been why he showed her the message instead of just telling her the summary.

_ He wanted me to find out something new about myself. _

“Come and face me, Kenobi,” Maul demanded. “And until you do, this world will  _ burn. _ ”

Thryn’s relief died swift. “He’s going.”

“Yes.”

“Not alone,” Thryn asserted.

“Alone, yes. Refused help he did.”

Thryn’s heart bounded in alarm. “But it’s a  _ trap,  _ Master! There’s something we’re not seeing here!”

“Yes.”

“But he’s  _ still  _ going alone?”

Yoda simply looked up at her. “Skywalker and Tano, here are not. You, perhaps.”

Thryn waited not a second longer.

She barely caught up to Obi-Wan in the hangar bay.

“Master Kenobi!”

He glanced up at her, then continued prepping his fighter for flight.

“I have no current duties, and I’m no longer Temple-bound. Take me with you.”

Obi-Wan threw her a startled and unconvinced glance. “Take you to face a Sith  _ without  _ Feemor’s permission.”

“We can ask him on the way. He said I could comm—”

“ _ Except  _ for the insertion. That’s happening  _ now,  _ Thryn. He’s on communications lockdown until he’s gotten out.”

Thryn planted her hands on the wing of his fighter. “He would say yes.”

“I am  _ not  _ taking you. This is something I have to do. Even Master Yoda agreed I must go alone.” He didn’t quite meet her gaze.

“He’s  _ permitting  _ you to go alone,” Thryn retorted, eyes blazing. “That doesn’t mean it’s wise.”

Obi-Wan frowned at her. “I’m not going to ruin the two years of secrecy surrounding your gift by revealing you to an enemy I have already defeated once. Alone. I’m going to finish the job, and you will not follow me. That’s an order. We don’t bring you into play until we  _ know  _ we have the Sith Master in our sights. It’s the tactical choice, Thryn. We’ll only get one shot with your surprise.”

The bubble closed over him, and the engines fired.

Thryn stepped back, and scowled as the ship lifted, spun around, and zipped out.

“Yeah?” she muttered, staring as the fighter streaked into Coruscant’s sky. And then she  _ commed  _ him. Obi-Wan had no sooner answered, than Thryn announced, “Here’s some more tactical analysis: Maul wouldn’t have challenged you if he wasn’t absolutely  _ certain  _ he would win. He suffered too much from  _ last  _ time. He wouldn’t have waited  _ thirteen years  _ to let you know he was alive only to tell you prematurely, and the day he picked is  _ not  _ a coincidence. He would make  _ absolutely certain  _ you wouldn’t have the chance to cut him in half  _ again  _ before he summoned you in a way he would know you  _ could not ignore. _ ”

“ _ Thryn, _ ” Obi-Wan replied, sounding horrifyingly calm, “some challenges are personal, and can only be met alone.”

“ _ Banthak— _ ”

And he cut the connection.

“Kriff!” Thryn hissed.

Her comm chimed. She tapped the button without looking at it.

“Thryn?” It was Lisk. “I need some advice.”

Thryn growled in response. “Yeah? Nobody’s listening to  _ me  _ today. So don’t mess with me, Pollid.”

A long silence stretched out.

“What happened?” he asked at last.

“ _ Kenobi  _ is trying to get himself  _ killed, _ ” she snarled. “And Feemor’s out of reach. And Korto’s  _ back,  _ but...”

“ _ Korto _ ?”

“Yeah.”

“So is my Mom, apparently?”

“ _ What _ ?”

 

* * *

 

Thryn plunked into the chair while Lisk perched against the exam table of a currently empty exam room. Discussion about Tolor had been had in whispered flurries as they hurried here, but now that they had space to actually  _ talk,  _ Thryn seemed at a loss.

Lisk couldn’t seem to find words either, so he just waited until she offered up a question.

“So what’s this about your mother?”

“I know where she’s going to be, and I have to decide if I’m going to meet her or not.”

Thryn simply watched him, unspeakable exhaustion lurking around her in the Force. “Alright,” she said at last. “How do I help? Do you want me to help strategize, or listen while you work through it aloud yourself—?”

“I don’t even know where to begin.” Lisk felt just as weary as Thryn looked.

“Okay.” Thryn squeezed her eyes shut, pressed the palm of her hand to her eye for a moment, then looked up again. “Okay. Facts first. What do we know?”

“Tolor says she’s still entangled with Black Sun. And I know she  _ didn’t _ kill Birdsong.”

“Tolor and your mother are two different people,” Thryn agreed. “And Black Sun? It’s dicey, but not insurmountable. As long as you’re in a neutral area, and someone knows where you are, so that people would think twice about disappearing you if things somehow went sideways.”

“It’s more than neutral. It’s upper level, in an area where the cops actually have a presence and actually respond.” At least there was that.

Thryn nodded. “From what you said, it seems Tolor sold her a bill of goods about your future. So we don’t know if she gave informed consent to you being given to the Jedi.”

Lisk fidgeted. It was a thought that had been plaguing him since that most recent discussion with Tolor.

“ _ But,  _ you’re no longer a minor, so even if she wanted to demand custody, it wouldn’t be up to the courts. You decide where you want to go.”

Lisk’s forehead scrunched up with worry. “But I’m not a knight yet, and contact with families is supposed to happen  _ after  _ knighthood.”

“True.” Thryn studied him for a long moment. “Is this a once-only deal? Is she making contact now because she won’t be able to, later, once you’re knighted?”

Lisk grunted. “That’s the kind of useful information Tolor  _ didn’t _ give me. Tolor doesn’t seem to have hope of getting her out of Black Sun’s clutches, and she certainly wasn’t expecting to never see her son again, when she let Tolor take me.”

“And what do  _ you  _ want?” Thryn asked. “Do you want to know her?”

“I’m... I didn’t, before. But now I can’t help but think about a woman who just wanted to get her life back, reach some form of freedom, and who was just trying to keep her baby out of Black Sun’s hands. It’s hard to punish her for  _ that,  _ you know? And the fact that Tolor keeps making spectacularly  _ bad  _ choices isn’t  _ her  _ fault. It’s his. And I just... maybe she deserves to get to see where her son ended up.”

Thryn nodded. “I think I agree with that. So the question is, do you want to do it  _ now,  _ before it’s permissible, or wait until you can do it without  _ any  _ qualms of conscience?”

“If I see her soon, then I can change the way I contact her. I can figure out something direct, instead of having to go through Tolor. I could explain to her that I want to keep distance until I’ve been knighted, and that maybe we could have lunch and talk after that. Tolor seems to think I’ll just...  _ go join them  _ and we’ll all be a family.” Lisk shook his head, his lip curling in a scoff. “He just assumed I would want that. I don’t know what my mother thinks, but if she believes him, believes that, then she deserves to know I have no intention of it. I want to be a Jedi. And even if I didn’t, I’m not ready to step into a role many years younger than I now am. I’m sorry she wanted a child, and didn’t get to raise it, but none of that is my fault. And just about everything awful in my life can be traced right back to Tolor, so I don’t feel particularly obligated to come through on things  _ he  _ promised.”

Thryn nodded. “Would you tell Kewari?”

Lisk groaned and pushed away from the table, his fidgeter slipping from his pocket into his fingers so he could worry its facets. “ _ Kewari  _ is the adult in my life that I actually trust. And she trusts me. I’m not sure I’m ready to just throw that away for someone  _ I don’t even know _ . Even if I got half my genome from her.”

“So you  _ would  _ tell Kewari?”  
“See, that’s the thing,” Lisk fretted. “Until I’m knighted, she has legal authority over me. If she tells me  _ no,  _ then that’s a whole new line I have to decide about. And that’s the thing: I am  _ willing  _ to wait until knighthood to reach out to where I came from. And I don’t  _ want  _ to have anything more to do with Tolor. I don’t want a relationship with him anymore, at  _ all. _ ”

“Seems to me he should respect that.”

Lisk grimaced. “I’m not sure he _will._ And who knows about my mother? And I hate _calling_ her that. It makes me feel like I’m insinuating I have a connection to her that is founded on more than blood. It doesn’t feel right.”

“So, once you find out her name, use that?” Thryn suggested.

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I can last a couple more days. I think... I think I’ll tell Master what I did, just as soon as I get back. And then take any rules she lays down. If she insists on no more contact until knighthood, then fine. At least then all parties will know what’s what ahead of time, instead of years of wondering. What about you? Are you going to sneak after Master Obi-Wan?”

Between Thryn’s face and Force signature, Lisk realized the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

_ Oh... kark. _

Thryn’s gaze shifted away, an alarming thing that left Lisk feeling worried.

While he believed in her skills, and knew firsthand what her unveiled Force presence could  _ do _ ...

_ Is she ready to face a Sith? _

“He’s right about the strategy of it,” Thryn admitted, sounding unhappy. “Maul is not the Sith Master, and after Korto has gone to such great lengths, and been hurt so much by the quest to take out the Sith Master, it seems like it would be spitting on his wounds to reveal the details of my card before the part of the game where I could be played.”

Lisk sent her a  _ look.  _ “Where you could be  _ played _ ?”

“Fine, get rid of the card analogy. But we’ve got a Sith out there who’s clever enough to have eluded us for  _ thirteen years.  _ He  _ trained  _ Maul  _ and  _ convinced Dooku to Fall, and who knows what else he’s accomplished. When we finally find him, there might not be  _ time  _ to invent a new plan. If I’m alive and available and a secret, then we can throw something into that confrontation that he wouldn’t be able to plan for. Maybe the  _ only  _ thing. This Sith is a mastermind, Lisk, and we’re going to  _ need  _ something unexpected.”

“So to win the war you’d risk a battle?” Lisk clarified.

Thryn shifted in the seat, looking not at all thrilled with her own words. “To make sure the Sith master is no longer at large... I would risk a  _ lot.  _ It’s not just the things  _ that Sith  _ has done that have resulted in so much blood, there’s also what  _ we’ve _ been doing to try to get to him.” Pain flickered across her features.

_ Korto. This whole war. _

Yes. To try to stop one great Evil, those standing against it were growing ever more desperate in their measures.

_And we’re running out of time._

“So I will stay here, and I will watch for his return,” Thryn concluded. “And if he does not...”

_ Force, please don’t do that to her. _

“Then I will keep fighting for what he’s lost so much to preserve.”

“The Republic?”

“The Republic, the Neutral Systems— any place where beings have a  _ chance  _ to have basic rights, and a chance to choose their own destinies. Freedom. I get that the Republic needs help, needs change, but a place that needs help is better than a galaxy run by a Sith Dooku and whatever Sith Dooku answers to. The Republic’s no utopia, but I’ve  _ seen  _ places where it doesn’t reach. Justicar Territory isn’t  _ nice.  _ Life where Black Sun rules is  _ awful.  _ And if Dooku wants to fight for freedom, he’s picked a hell of a way to  _ inform  _ us.”

Lisk sighed. “Okay. So you’re not going to go rescue Master Kenobi.”

“No. And you are going to go meet your mother.”

_ Yes. _

Lisk wasn’t sure either of them were making the right call...

_ But we have to pick  _ something.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Thryn spent a restless night, and when Obi-Wan finally limped back to the Temple in the early hours of the morning, Thryn was fully ready to give him a frightening dose of  _ what-did-I-say.  _ As respectfully as she could manage.

But after one look at his battered face, clearly damaged body, and the defeat, insecurity, and heartache leaking from him despite his earnest efforts to conceal it, Thryn scrapped the first plan in favor of a new one.

He exited the Council chamber, after just minutes of reporting, to head for the Halls of Healing. “It was a trap,” he said, voice weary as he caught sight of Thryn. “It wasn’t just Maul, but Savage Oppress too. They’re  _ brothers. _ ”

“He said something, didn’t he. He did something to you.”

Obi-Wan glanced down at his scraped hands, torn clothes, dried blood and massive bruising lurking behind the tatters of his robes. Then he glanced at Thryn with a partially raised eyebrow— the one  _ not  _ over the eye almost swollen shut— as if to say,  _ you think so? _

“I didn’t mean the beating.”

Obi-Wan looked away and shook his head. “You always find...” He gave up and lowered his shields, but kept limping forward.

What Thryn found was enough to make her stomach churn.

_ “I gutted your master, Qui-Gon Jinn, while you stood helpless and watched. How did that make you feel,  _ Obi-Wan _ ?”  
_ And Master Kenobi, in-Balance Master Kenobi, had responded in anger to the intense, searing pain, had fallen out of Balance, and been outmatched.

Thryn reached to help, but something startled her out of focus. “ _ Ventress  _ helped you?”

Obi-Wan managed a wan smile. “Not because she wanted to, believe me.”

“Then  _ why _ ?”

“Oppress did something to her, and she desires revenge. I’m a bit fuzzy on the details. She actually saw both of them before she got involved, knew she wouldn’t have a chance of trying to defeat them both alone. So she... enlisted my help.”

“You were there first. Seems to me you enlisted  _ her  _ help.”

“No.” Obi-Wan looked grim. “They would have killed me before I figured out Ventress was there, let alone had the awareness to come up with the brilliant idea of having ex-Sith fight Sith.”

He stumbled a step.

“Are you sure you should be walking?” Thryn fretted. “I could go find a stretch—”

“Don’t you dare,” he growled. “I walked into the trap, and I most certainly am going to walk myself to the Halls!”

_ Skywalker will be furious when he finds out about all this,  _ Thryn thought. 

Obi-Wan’s steps slowed, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He seemed to be struggling to keep his balance. With the last of the adrenaline worn out, he simply didn’t have anything left.

Concern yelled in Thryn’s mind, and  _ now  _ she could hear Bail Organa’s voice in her head, saying the word  _ Zigoola. _

“Stop!” Obi-Wan yelped. “Just—  _ stop! _ ”

He must be really badly off if he was reading her outlying thoughts. He was normally such a stickler about such things as courtesy.

“Sorry.”

He sighed and kept going. “And here I thought I was lucky because Anakin isn’t here.”

Thryn fell behind him a pace and activated the silent-alarm that went straight to Lisk’s comm... and left it to keep transmitting, then caught up again.

“You closed your eyes. Are you having a lot of head pain?”

“Do I have a lot of head pain? Kriffing  _ yes,  _ Thryn. He beat me around the head and threw me against crates and walls.”

He saw Lisk coming down the hall towards them at a brisk, business-like clip, towing a hover-stretcher.

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. “What a coincidence.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, Thryn,” Lisk grinned.

Obi-Wan sent her a  _ look. _

Thryn narrowed her eyes at Lisk. “Traitor.”

“Padawans.” Obi-Wan spoke the word like it was a curse.

Lisk badgered the Jedi Master into sinking onto the stretcher, the master whose muscles trembled, nearly a spasm as he did so.

_ Just how much damage is there? _

The two padawans guarded their charge to the Halls of Healing, and halfway there, Obi-Wan’s protests fell silent, his eyes glassy with misery.

_ But... if Ventress had him alone in a ship as they fled, and in this condition... _

She would have had plenty of opportunity for murder, and...

_ Probably could have succeeded. _

Yet, she hadn’t. And the fact that she’d interrupted the torture in the first place...

Thryn had heard stories about what she’d done to Obi-Wan on Rattatak. Everyone had. The younglings spoke about it in hushed whispers in attempts to frighten one another and test their nerve; padawans compared hearsay— and speculated what they would have done... and whether they would have broken or could have held out.

Yet she’d intervened, saved Obi-Wan’s life last night.

_ Grateful for something Ventress has done? Honestly grateful? Is that even... right? It sounds wrong. _

Thryn saluted as they reached the Halls of Healing, deciding not to get in the way of the healers moving to assist Lisk.

 

* * *

 

“Welcome back, Master.”

Feemor managed a weary smile. “Hello, Thryn.”

“You look less worse for wear than anticipated.”

Feemor scoffed, sending her an amused look. “I used to run missions alone, you know. I did exist before you swept into my life.”

“That logic almost got Master Kenobi killed.”

_I wish he wouldn’t feel such a need to prove himself._

Obi-Wan had so many burdens placed on him by outside forces, it would have been nice if he could have avoided placing more on his own shoulders.

Feemor felt Thryn scan his sense, and it warmed him, just a bit. He could easily remember the time when Thryn had been cautious of such an invasion of privacy.

Now she genuinely  _ believed  _ that it was her right to keep tabs on Feemor’s reactions, whatever they encountered. That she possessed the same rights as any padawan of their master.

“You seem exhausted. Want to spar?”

It choked a laugh out of Feemor. “Most certainly _not._ I’m going to go hide in my chamber and sleep. If you want to spar, find someone less brain-dead.”

“I’m... glad you’re okay, Master.”

Feemor sent her a gentle smile. “You too, Padawan.”

 

* * *

 

Feemor, once clean and in sleep tunic and leggings, settled on his sleep mat and activated his datapad.

_Alright, Master Tonnal._

He accessed the HoloNet, located the place Jed Tonnal had suggested.

The words:  _ When Someone You Love Craves Power Exchange  _ had another line,  _ How to Support The Unusual People In Your Life _ , beneath it.

A list of links leading away included  _ Rope, Whips, Praise... _

And the word Thryn both hated and feared.

_ Sadist. _

Feemor hesitated a long moment, then followed it.

He found a collection of articles, some papers from various scientific, medical, and psychology journals, and a few interviews. He chose the first vid file.

_ “So, Ardyre, you are a self-proclaimed sadist, is that correct?”  _ The interviewer wore a formal dress, and her hair was piled up in golden curls on top of her head. She carried herself with the mien of reporters the galaxy over.

The woman being interviewed wore quiet clothes and a gentle smile, and her age was hinted to by the silver streaks in her hair and the tiny crowsfeet by her eyes. Without hesitation she replied, _ “True.” _

_ “So let’s get this question out of the way first, then. Do you want to hurt me?”  _ An amused look lit the reporter’s face, expecting a hearty no.

_ “Yes.”  _ And now it was the interviewee who looked amused at the startled shock that flickered on the other’s face.  _ “You are just my type. But I do not wish to  _ harm  _ you.” _

The reporter settled herself again, squaring her shoulders.  _ “Hurt, not harm. Perhaps you could clarify?” _

_“Certainly. My type happens to be professional and put-together women. I enjoy it when such a woman chooses to submit to me, to desire pain at my hand. I also enjoy granting that pain, through words, or an instrument of our choice. It hurts. However, I am careful not to inflict lasting harm. For example, tearing down another being’s self-image, or breaking bones, or violating trust.”_

The reporter chuckled.  _ “And do beings who are not already broken seek you out for pain? Is not the desire for pain a sign of emotional distress that would be better met with therapy, not pain?” _

_“There are beings who enjoy extreme sensation, the same way some beings enjoy extreme thrills. Racing, mountain climbing, deep-sea diving— all of those things bring intense experiences, and they work magic on the body’s chemistry, yet we do not see people who enjoy endurance jogging as aberrant. Some people enjoy experiencing fear while in a safe environment— some of them prefer watching horror holos, and others like to come to me for something tailored more specifically to them.”_

The reporter tilted her head to the side.  _ “Ardyre is not your given name, is it?” _

_“Correct. It is what we call a scene name.”_

_“If your way of life is so normal, why would you use a false name?”_

_“It is out of courtesy to my loved ones who are not within the scene. My name is not just my name, it is connected with others as well, and they have not consented to having their daily lives bothered by curiosity seekers orbiting mine.”_

_ “Let’s talk about these people who come to you, the ones you say are not in desperate need of intervention. They are called masochists, correct?”  
_ Apparently not bothered by the not-quite-friendly reporter, Ardyre smiled.  _ “They are. Sadists and masochists form a symbiont circle. And when that circle is treated with respect and trust from both sides,it can be a healthy and beautiful thing.” _

_ “The textbook definition of sadist is one who gains a carnal thrill from harm—  _ sorry—  _ hurting another. How does it work when you’re with a being you’re not physically compatible with?” _

_ “While for some people sadomasochism is tied inextricably to sexuality, for others, it is not the same at all. The sensation I receive is not down here,”  _ Ardyre placed a hand over her abdomen,  _ “It’s here,” _ the hand moved to cover her heart,  _ “and here.”  _ She ended with her fingers brushing her throat.

Feemor blinked. When watching action holovids with Thryn, he had noted the both the reaction of her Force signature and mind, but also the strange way her throat reacted.

_ Maybe there might be something of value here after all. _

So as the reporter closed out the clip, Feemor moved on to one of the articles and settled in to read.

 

* * *

 

Thryn looked at him with eyes narrowed in confusion.

“He... knows people?” Thryn repeated, clearly hoping for clarification.

“What you experience, when exposed to another’s pain, may not be a reaction that is yours alone.”

Thryn’s shoulders sagged. “I know. Sith and... killers.”

“No, Thryn. There might be people who function as kind members of society,  _ and  _ still experience something similar. People who are lawyers, and musicians, cooks, and anything else. People who don’t harm and kill other people. Beings who haven’t escalated, Thryn.”

That tense, worried knot formed around her in the Force again. Feemor knew why, it was that one word and the concept behind that word.

Escalation.

It had taken time before Thryn had been willing to admit that while she enjoyed holos centering around a policebeing, there was a reason why she froze up, locked her shields down tight, and if at all possible, just...  _ left...  _ if there was a holo that involved a serial killer.

It hadn’t been easy for her to explain, and there had been some tears involved, but it all boiled down to this:

She didn’t want to be like that.

And every step she took, every choice she made, she feared  _ turning into  _ that.

Right now she eyed him with clear doubt. “Beings... who... consume pain?”  
“It’s looking possible, yes. That there are beings who both have songs in their blood, and who  _ don’t _ escalate.”

Her eyes squinted in a protracted wince, and to Feemor, it felt through the Force as if she feared believing it. Feared hope.

“And Master Tonnal...  _ knows _ such people?”

“Yes. People he is willing to vouch for as honest and decent. Between Korto’s concerns for you and observing you fight, he recognized the self-doubt you’ve fought so hard against. He does not want that suffering to continue.”  _ It would be a cold heart indeed who could look at you and want you to suffer  _ more, _ Padawan. _

Thryn sank into a chair, and glanced at the door of the meeting room, as if to check to make sure it was still closed. “I don’t understand. You said there might be  _ symbiosis  _ for me.”

“You experience your sense of belonging when sparring, even though you have no intent of leaving your opponent wounded or dead.”

She stared up at him with wide eyes, then nodded once.

“It’s possible there may be beings out there who enjoy sparring, but would enjoy it more if their  _ minds  _ knew they were not facing severe harm or death, but their bodies and hearts didn’t know, and so reacted with terror while they spar.”

Thryn stared at him, bewildered. “Isn’t sparring supposed to be the time when you  _ don _ ’t have to experience such fear?”

“For those of us who risk our lives on a regular basis, yes. But for many civilians, training in self-defense or martial arts  _ is  _ enjoyable because it can sometimes carry a feeling of peril.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if you chose to never truly battle another creature the rest of your life, you might still hear your heart song, while providing a safe place for a being who craves something a bit less sterile than usual. I’m saying that while the Order may not have enough people for you to run into a Jedi who matches you, it seems there  _ are  _ people who exist, throughout the galaxy, that would not see you as broken, and who would be very glad to make your acquaintance.”

Speechless, Thryn searched his face and Force-signature, clearly bewildered.

_ You are not used to thinking of yourself as acceptable. You think of yourself as an aberration, and alone. _

_You think of yourself as something terrible that you are reining in._

Feemor pulled another chair from the table and sat down, leaning forward. “You’re an adult. What you want to pursue, and how you go about it— that’s all for you to decide now. If you want to speak to Tonnal about the people he knows or not, if you want to meet them or don’t— that’s up to you. You have my support either way.”

“I... wasn’t able to figure out what you asked me to. You told me to figure out what I would want to do, if I could be... whole  _ and  _ do anything. I tried, Master, but I still don’t know.”

Feemor gave her a quiet smile. “It’s alright, Thryn. You’re thinking about it now, and pondering. Now you know that a violent career isn’t necessarily your only option. Jedi taking violent missions, soldier, spy, extraction specialist, mercenary— there’s a whole universe out there, beyond those choices, and while you are free to choose it, a violent life is not one you have to feel chained to, now.”

A tear slipped down Thryn’s cheek, so sudden it clearly startled her. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she whispered, sounding a bit alarmed.

_ It’s alright, Padawan. The box you thought you were locked away in may be starting to crack open. It will be alright. _

“I don’t know what to do.”

Feemor gave her another gentle smile, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “That’s viable. You don’t have to decide immediately. I just needed you to know that you have options.”

The doubt crossed her face again, it was clear she was not at all ready to believe she had options.

But that, too, was alright.

_ It has been a very, very long ordeal for you.  _ So many years long, that Thryn might not even remember a time when she was free of the self-fear and cage.

“Padawan, this is what I believe, all the way through: There is nothing wrong with who and what you are. You will find a way to peace, I believe that.”

 

* * *

 

It took time, quite a  _ lot  _ of time alone, to decide to speak to Korto’s former master Tonnal.

Thryn tracked him down, had even made it to the Room of a Thousand Fountains, when her steps slowed, then stopped entirely.

Jedi Master T’ra Saa sat with her back to a tree, and Tonnal lay on his back in the grass, head pillowed in her lap while her hand rested gently on his silver hair. Saa, more kin to the tree than to the mammal, looked so quiet and peaceful, and Korto’s Master looked the same.

_ Will I ever experience something like that? Something purely gentle, a place for heart rest? _

Did she  _ want  _ it?

_ I suppose... I could try  _ more  _ to cut myself off from...  _ it.  _ I could force myself into pacifism, be like Duchess Kryze. I still might even be able to help people still. _

But she would have to avoid action holos. And being in a combat situation, ever. And even then, what she lived with, what she experienced would not be  _ gone,  _ it would merely remain unspoken.

_ And would I ever find this kind of peace while carrying that weight? _

She suspected it would feel false.

But the sight of the two masters was... it made Thryn ache, just a little, inside.

_I think I want peace, at least sometimes._ _But I am... so tired... fighting myself all the time. At least now, I’m working toward having what I am be useful, maybe_ mean _something, if we can take out the Sith Master._

She didn’t resent the thought of dying of something different and sooner than old age. Something far more violent. So long as she was actively fighting back, of course. She had been so accustomed to the thought of being an individual steeped in violence, the thought wasn’t uncomfortable, she didn’t loathe the thought of such a life path or such a life end...

_ But if there  _ was  _ more for me... _

Thryn tried to envision herself as a cartographer, or a crime analyst, or a martial arts instructor...

It felt bewildering.

_ I am good at violence. I am skilled, I do not viscerally dread it, the way many Jedi do. It makes sense for me to be here, to be available to take missions so other Jedi don’t have to. That... would make a difference. _

_Oh. That’s what I want to do._

Should she speak to Tonnal anyway? Try to make contact with individuals...  _ like  _ herself?  _ Good people,  _ who lived with what she experienced, but weren’t pursuing violent life paths?

She felt her cheek pale, then glow crimson, felt her stomach flip over, felt a shiver run down her arm.

Did she want to believe such people existed? Did she  _ actually  _ want to come face-to-face with someone who might be like that?

She turned and fled at a fast walk.

People who...  _ liked  _ themselves, who weren’t escalating into killers, but were still...

_ Sadists... _

Oh, the word always made her feel so sick inside, so vile and awful—

No.

She wasn’t ready.

 

 


End file.
